PS 3157 

1881 
Copy 1 



EEKS 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



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WEEKS, ROBERT K. Poems. New 
York: Henry Holt & Co., 1880. Sq. 121110, 
pp. viii. 303. 



POEMS. By Robert K. Weeks. New York: 
Henry Holt & Co., i88o„ Sq. i2mo, pp. viii. 



POETRY. Poems. By Robert K. Weeks, 
New York: Henry Holt & Co., 1S80. Sq. 
121110, pp. viii. 303. 



POEMS 



BY 



ROBERT K. WEEKS 




NEW YORK 
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 

1881 






Copyright, 

i8So, 

By E. C. WEEKS. 



INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 

This volume consists of pieces from the au- 
thor's first two volumes selected and materially 
revised by him, and of the entire contents of a 
third volume published posthumously. 

The expressions printed below will have a 
value for those in sympathy with his work, and 
may attract the attention of some who will be 
glad to join the number. 

From a review of " Tioenty Poems,'^ by Air. R. H. 
Stoddard, in Scribnef's Monthly for Januajy, iSyy. 

" Accomplished versifiers come and go, but the coming 
poet Cometh not. He might, and perhaps would, have 
come at last in the person of Robert Kelley Weeks, whose 
eyes opened on another morn than ours, when the 
roses of June were last blooming. He died at the 
&je of thirty-six, leaving three small volumes of poetry, 
the last being the posthumous one now before us. 
We remember his modest advent ten years since, and the 
hope and fear with which we regarded his work and his 
career. That he was a poet was as certain to our minds 
as that a violet was a violet. The indefinable something 
which distinguishes poetry from verse, and which is best 
indicated by the word quality, was evident in his produc- 
tions. His conceptions were airy and tender, and his ex- 
ecution was restrained and graceful. There was no trick 
in his art, and no mannerism ; and it was noticeably free 
from imitation. Interpenetrated by pensive sentiment, it 
was not in the least sentimental; and its occasional sadness 
was not the sadness of one whom Melancholy had marked 
for her own. It was at most the shadow of a serious mood. 

Mr. Weeks was born September 21, 1840, and died April 13, 1S76. 



iv INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 

What separated it from other juvenile verse of the period 
was that the writer had nothing to unlearn. His sense of 
power was correct, and his knowledge of measures mature. 
Such were the impressions which we derived from his first 
venture, and which augured well for his second. What 
we apprehended was that the second, when it came, 
might not show that he had grown as he should have done, 
in view of his fine natural gifts and his careful scholarship: 
in other words, that it might be a promise rather than a 
performance. It came four years later, and dissipated our 
apprehension. The touch of the poet — at first a little 
faint and uncertain — had grown clear and firm, and the 
one test which so few poets can stand — the ability to write 
blank verse — had been met and overcome. Mr. Weeks' 
blank verse was masterly and original. Another test which 
few poets can stand — the ability to write sonnets — had 
also been met and overcome. There could be no doubt 
of his proficiency in the technicalities of the poetic art. 
This of itself was a great merit, but not so great a merit as 
the gift which accompanied it — the art of hiding art. 
The growth of Mr. Weeks was positive, and in the right 
direction. He had grown out of himself and his own fan- 
cies into the world of objective art, for he had learned to 
tell a story. * * * We have not to read far before W2 
say to ourselves : this man has looked upon nature through 
his own eyes, and not through the spectacles of books. * 
* * The last of Mr. Weeks' " Twenty Poems " — a brief 
little ballad Entitled ** Lexington " — is the one that we 
should select as the truest measure of what his powers 
would perhaps have been if he had not been cut off in his 
early prime. If any battle-field of Revolutionary fame has 
given rise to better writing than that, we have yet to see 
it. That, if nothing else, has placed Mr. Weeks perma- 
nently among the poets of America." 

From a review of ^'Twenty Poems'' by Mr. W. D. 
Howells, in the Atlantic Mo7tt]ily for January, iSyj. 

" The genuine poetic quality of Mr. Weeks we were 
prompt to acknowledge in a notice of his first volume, 



IN TR OB UC TOR Y NOTE. v 

printed some five years ago. This quality there asserted 
itself in spite of the strong infusion of Tennyson, and gave 
us hopes of something more distinctly good from the author 
— hopes which the present volume, but for the poet's un- 
timely death, must strongly encourage. Because it is the 
last of his work, it is an achievement the more interesting, 
and sympathetic criticism will find it full of the pathos of 
arrested processes and intentions. The poet has passed 
beyond the imitative stage, and for good or ill, whatever 
is here is his. Whether he would have given us hereafter 
something of stronger clutch is a question which can now 
never be settled, but that he could have given us poems 
increasin.crly lovely, with clear, original thought and direc- 
tion in them, there is no doubt. * * '^ More than in 
his other work, we feel in the Gudrun that his death is 
a loss to literature." 



TABLE OF COiNTENTS. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

On the River, . . . .3 

On the Bridge, .... 5 

After Twilight, . . . . y 

Anadyomene, . . . . g 

Urania, . . . . .11 

The Quiet Moon, . . . 12 

A Midsummer Night's Dream, . . 13 
In September, . . . .19 

A Sunset in November, . . .20 
A Cloudy Day, . . . .23 

Before the Snow, . . . '25 

A Snow Shower in April, . . 26 

An Old Play, . . . .27 

Song, ..... 32 

Love's Incapacity, . . . -33 

On the Shore, .... 34 



CONTENTS. 



A Hill-Top, . 
A Climber, 
Andromeda's Escape, 



35 
41 



BALLADS. 



How Roland Blew the Horn, 


. 107 


GUDRUN, . . . . 


125 


A Song for Lexington, 


. 165 


WITH MEN AND WOMEN. 




The Return of Paris, 


• 171 


Song, ..... 


178 


King ^geus. 


. 179 


In Corinth, .... 


181 


Medusa, . . . . . 


. 190 


A Winter Evening, 


192 


Shadows, .... 


. 197 


A Change, .... 


198 


The New Narcissus, 


. 200 


Pilgrimage, .... 


201 


Her Name, .... 


. 206 


Greenhouse Flowers, . 


207 


In Nubius, .... 


. 209 



CONTENTS. 


iy 


Autumn Song, . 


212 


Spring Song, .... 


. 213 


The Moral, . , • 


215 


The End, .... 


. 216 


WITH NATURE. 




Vjta Vitalis, 


. 219 


A Day, .... 


224 


In May, .... 


. 229 


Moonlight in May, 


231 


In the Meadow, 


. 232 


By the Lake, 


233 


By the Bay, .... 


. 234 


The Mist, 


235 


Rara Avis, .... 


. 238 


The Katydid, 


239 


A Vine, .... 


. 241 


On the Beach, . 


242 


A Glimpse of Life, . 


. 243 


Man and Nature, 


244 


Calm and Cold, 


. 246 


Winter Sunrise, 


247 


Winter Sunset, 


. 248 


By the Fireside, 


249 



X CONTENTS. 




The Lion of Lucerne, 


, 


■ 250 


My Place, 


. 


252 


EARLY 


POEMS. 




A Sunset, . 


• . . 


269 


A Rainy Day, 


. 


. 270 


An Early Spring, 


• 


271 


By the Brook, 


. 


• 273 


Between the Sunset and the Moon, . 


274 


A Winter Afternoon, 


. 


• 275 


The Lost Moon, 




276 


Pursuing, 




.277 


From Below, 




278 


Absence, 




. 280 


Protesilaus, 




282 


Margaret, . 




. 287 


Madonna, 




290 


Moonlight, . 




. 292 


At Sea, . 




294 


The Good Pursuit, . 




• 300 


A Rose, . 




302 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



POEMS 



ON THE RIVER. 

T) ETWEEN green fields and wooded heights 

The river stretched at ease ; 
The starry points, the dazzhng hghts 
Struck firom it by the breeze ; 

The wavering smoke, that floats, that trails, 

The rippling flags that fly, 
The glistening prows, the sunny sails 

Of boats that pass me by ; 

The gulls that flying here and there 

Now darken and now gleam ; 
The clouds that melt upon the air. 

Like snow on some slow stream ; 



. ON THE RIVER. 



Awhile I watch them dreamily, 
And then I hear once more 

The winds that search infinity, 
The waves that beat the shore 



ON THE BRIDGE. 

'T^OWARD the mysterious lights that seem 

To lure it with a smile, 
Green between greener fields the stream 
Winds westward many a mile ; 

The west wind with a lingering hold, 

Voluptuously grave, 
Stays every hollow, touched with gold, 

Of every little wave ; 

The light oars dip and drip and shine. 

The river grasses sway. 
The foam-bells in a glimmering Hne 

Mingle and melt away ; 



ox THE BRIDGE. 

Athwart the sunset, flying low, 
Through Hght from dark to dark, 

A few belated swallows show 

Like whirling leaves ; and hark ! — 

'Tis but the cricket's earthy song, 
The wind's, the water's sigh, 

That mingling deepen and prolong 
The silence of the sky. 



AFTER TWILIGHT. 

I. 

QTRAIGHT from the golden west serene 

It seemed to come, the restless breeze, 
That bent, that lifted, ill at ease. 
The massy foliage, darkly green. 
Of June's voluptuous apple-trees ; 

2. 

Like great uneven waves they seemed, 
Forever breaking with a sigh 
'Gainst that unclouded solemn sky. 
Whose mingling hues so softly gleamed. 
So silently began to die. 



AFTER TWILIGHT. 

3- 

The mellow gold, the tender green, 
Slow dying, died away at last, 
Once more the sky but as a vast 
Unquestionable vault was seen, 
Its gentler influence overpast. 

4. 

But still the western breezes blow, 
And still the tree-tops sway and sigh ; 
All night I hear them where I lie, 
Weird wandering sounds that come and go 
That come and go, and never die. 



ANADYOMENE. 

'^ 1 ^ HE passionate first flush 

Of that great sunset came, 
And vanished, hke a rush 
Of self-consuming flame ; 

But deep within the west, 
Long hved the afterglow. 
And on the water's breast 
Slow heaving to and fro ; 

And where the lower blue 
Was lost in tender green, 
An eager star burst thro' 
The palpitating screen ; 



JO ANADYOMENE. 



And darkly whispering went 
The wind among the grass, 
And o'er the waves, intent 
On what should come to pass ; 

Eastward I turned my eyes 
In vague expectancy, 
And saw the moon arise 
Like Venus from the sea. 



URANIA. 

I. 

T N the sky a pallid gleam 

Follows sunset's rosy glow, 
And the clouds that all astream 
Passionately coloured so, 
Cold and grey and withered seem. 

2. 

Then the exhausted clouds between. 
Faintly smiling, wan and fair, 
Twilight's lonely star is seen, 
Out of deeper depths of air, 



Charming with a milder mien. 



THE QUIET MOON. 

T T OW still the air, how still the stream ! 

The elm-trees hardly breathe, 
And breathlessly the waters seem 
To linger underneath. 

Not clearer on the cloudless air 

The listening tree-tops lie, 
Than on the unruffled river there 

That seems another sky. 

And through the branches from above, 
And through them from below, 

The new moon, hovering like a dove, 
Gleams and forgets to go. 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM, 



'nr^HE hot, unhappy city 
Oppresses me all day, 



But with the stars reviving 



My spirit slips away. 

A country road it enters, 
And follows all alone, 

Beside the scented meadows 
That were but newly mown ; 

Beside the streaming corn-fields 
That rustle in the breeze, 

Beside the tangled thickets 
Concealing mysteries. 



14 A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM. 

And here and there it crosses 
A brook that sings and shines, 

Or whispers in the shadow 
Of overhanging vines. 

And here a waveless water 
It smoothly passes by, 

With silvery silent lilies 
Unshaded from the sky. 

The flower of the elder-berry 
Perfumes the sunny air, 

The milk-white honeysuckles 
Delicious scent is there ; 

The wild wide-open roses 
Half hide the farmer's wall, 

And there the bees are humming 
And there the robins call ; 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHTS DREAM. 

There like a windy blossom 
The yellow-bird goes by, 

There floats in dreamy silence 
The mystic butterfly ; 

There like a gliding shadow, 
The squirrel skims the rail, 

There sounds the saucy whistle 
Of the tantalizing quail ; 

And self-absorbed the crickets 
There, everywhere approve 

The seeming-conscious quiet 

Through which the noises move. 

Yet, sweet as is the fragrance 
That there the blossoms yield, 

And dear as are the noises 
From thicket and from field, 



1 6 A MIDSUMMER NIGHTS DREAM. 

At times another odour 
Is felt obscurely there, 

An odour and a murmur 
That die upon the air. 

But ever as they vanish 
The heart begins to say, 

What is it that I long for, 
More than I have to-day ? 

A larger space above me, 
A larger space around, 

A sense of deeper silence, 
A sense of fuller sound. 

Enough, thou sheltered valley, 
Of sky-perplexing trees, 

Of mingling lights and shadows, 
Of dreams and reveries ; 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHTS DREAM. 

The road goes on and upward, 

And I go up and on, 
And reach the open head-land 

That loves the unshaded sun. 

No shadows overcome it, 
But of the birds that range, 

And of the clouds forever 

That wander and that change. 

There all the breezes gather, 
There all the winds are heard, 

There with the sound of waters 
The air is ever stirred. 

The sea's incessant waters, 

That sky-ward laugh and play, 

That shore-ward rolling whiten 
And scatter into spray, 



17 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S BREAM. 

The hum of their advancing, 
The thunder of their fall, 

The moan of their recoiling 
I hear, I see them all : 

And all of them including, 
To all of them unknown, 

See heaven's unruffled silence. 
High over and alone. 



IN SEPTEMBER. 

T^EATHERY clouds are few and fair 

Thistle-down is on the air, 
Rippling sunshine on the lake. 
Wild grapes scent the sunny brake, 
Wild bees murmuring take the ear. 
Crickets make the silence dear ; 
Butterflies float in a dream, 
Over all the swallows gleam. 
Here and yonder, high and low. 
Golden-rod and sunflowers glow. 
Here and there a maple flushes. 
Sumach reddens, woodbine blushes. 
Purple asters bloom and thrive, — 
I am glad to be alive ! 



A SUNSET IN NOVEMBER. 

'T^HE leaden slowness of the prostrate clouds, 

The dark pre-eminence of naked boughs, 
The blind compulsion of the uncertain wind. 
The helpless rustling of the withered leaves, 
The listless movement of the abandoned waves, 
I marked them all, I made them all my own, 
To help me to the sunset I foresaw, 
And longed for fiercely that November day. 

It came at last, I know not how it came, 
A clouded fire showed smouldering in the west. 
Faded and seemed extinguished. Overhead 
The massy clouds, like giants out of dreams 



A SUNSE7' IN NO VEMBER. 2 1 

Uneasily awaking, rolled apart, 
Closed, wavered, opened, with a sudden gleam 
Of silvery edges; and then all was changed. 
Upsprang the breeze, the waves, the branches 

sprang; 
The brown leaves quivered and went by like birds ; 
The smouldering clouds about the western hills 
Upblown rose huddling, and let see the sun — 
Red, rayless, half-consumed, — beyond the Earth 
Slow drawing backward ; while around his place 
And over him increasing, the new light 
Burnt red, intense and glowing, here and there 
Veiled with a restless vapour that arose 
Confused and formless, like a fiery smoke. 
Lower he sank ; o'erhead the parted clouds, 
Lightened and thinned and stretching them in 

flight. 
Flushed and grew crimson ; while beyond the lake 
Joyous with gold and purple, and beyond 
The feathery outlines of the purpling hills. 



22 ^ S UNSE T IN NO VEMBER. 

The open west 'neath mingling green and blue 
Was one transparent river of bright gold 
That northward slowly paling many a mile, 
Round crimson islands and past rosy shores, 
Streamed silent, waveless, to where side by side 
A nestling cluster of round little clouds 
Bloomed opalescent in clear amber air. 



A CLOUDY DAY. 

A LL day the sun has kept himself concealed, 
But not in sullenness. Look overhead, 
How beautiful the curtain that he draws, 
'Twixt heaven and earth soft floating in mid-air 
In imperceptible motion, seeming still ! 
Irregular, innumerable folds. 
With shadowy dimples and soft gleaming lines. 
Touched with a fleeting colour that endures 
Of opalescent tints on silvery grey ; 
Most like the interior loveliness of some 
Rare shell with pearly lining. 

I watch it long : 
Its many mingling hues that come and go, 
Its mazy lines continually changing, 



24 A CLOUDY DAY. 

Its shadowy hollows that keep changing too, 
Its flowmg grace and its superb expanse, 
I watch it long, unasking any more ; 
And yet — 'tis but a transitory curtain. 
Drawn by the sun to hide him for a day, 
Some secret gladness of his own concealing, 
Some rarely opening inner depth of Heaven, 
Wherein unseen he glories, safe withdrawn, 
In happy god-like loneliness afar. 



A 



BEFORE THE SNOW. 

SOFT grey sky, marked here and there 
With tangled tracery of bare boughs, 



A little far-off fading house, 
A blurred blank mass of hills that wear 
A thickening veil of lifeless air, 
Which no wind comes to rouse. 

Insipid silence everywhere; 
The waveless waters hardly flow, 
In silence labouring flies the crow, 
Without a shadow, o'er the bare 
Deserted meadows that prepare 
To sleep beneath the snow. 



A SNOW SHOWER IN APRIL. 

A H, how much greener does the grass appear, 
How much more strong and constant does 
it show, 
Contrasting with this transitory snow. 
Untimely and yet lovely ! Far and near, 
Light lying on the meadows, it seems here 
Like hoary clover; and there, on the low 
Slope of the knoll, white strawberry blossoms 

grow, 
And daisies yonder; while, (through all the year 
Sight longed for and remembered) pearly clear 
Around me the hght snow-flakes falling seem 
Like cherry-blossoms, that down eddying slow. 
Some warm May morning when no breezes blow. 
All over the fresh grass-plat softly gleam, 
And like the snow-flakes softly disappear. 



AN OLD PLAY. 

L In the Street. 

T IKE a breeze from a garden, 
Made sweet with the scent 
O' the fresh blooming Hlacs, 
She came and she went. 

Pure spirit and vision, 
Felt rather than known, 

Fain would I have held her 
And made her my own ; 

But as the unconscious 
Breeze blesses and goes 

So went she, more blessing 
And blest than she knows. 



28 AN OLD PLA V. 



II. /// M<? Garden. 

T T fHEN the lilacs were in blossom, 

And all the air was sweet, 
I saw her standing tip-toe 
Upon a garden-seat. 

One hand drew down the clusters, 

The other bent a spray, 
Held it a little minute, 

And let it slip away. 

Lilacs, your life is lengthened, 
But you've missed the very best. 

The best brief life of lying 
And dying on her breast ! 



rlX OLD PLAY, 



III. Till Sunrise. 

\ WAY to her, fresh morning breeze ! 
UpUft and blow aside 
Her cloudy curtain, and with ease 
Approach her un denied. 

And lightly kiss her mouth and eyes ; 

And lighdy lift her hair; 
And blow about her where she lies 

This scent that fills the air 

Of apple-blossoms sweet, that she 

May, waking, long to know 
What newly flowering shrub or tree 

Sweetens the morning so ; 



30 



AN OLD PLAY. 

And past the cloudy curtain there 
Lean forth perhaps to see, 

Sweet, fresh and fair, and unaware 
Be seen herself by me. 



IV. Till Moo7trise. 

J'T^IS long, long after sunset, 

And cloudless is the sky, 
Yet strangely faint the stars are. 
And strangely faint am I. 

Behind the hiding mountain 
They know the moon is near ; 

And shining at her window 
Soon will my Love appear ! 



AX OLD FLA Y. 31 

Y. By the Light 0' the Moon. 

''T^HE boughs that bend over, 

The vines that aspire 
To be close to your window 
Prevent my desire. 

Come forth from them, darUng! 

Enough 'tis to bear 
That between us be even 

Impalpable air ! 



SONG. 

T IKE a fettered boat that pants and pulls, 

And struggles to be free, 
When the vvmd is up, and the whirling gulls 

Are wild with ecstasy — 

Is my heart apart from thee ! 

Like a boat that leans, that leaps, that flies, 

That sings along the sea. 
With a sunny shower of drops that rise 

And fall melodiously — 

Is my heart. Sweetheart, is my heart, 

Is my heart, approaching thee! 



LOVE'S INCAPACITY. 

A S a pale cloud at morning, when the light 
First overcomes it from the unrisen sun, 
Is flushed with rosy colour, but anon 
Grows paler yet and paler as it feels 
The illimitable loveliness expand 
Till very heaven cannot contain it all ; — 
So I foresaw the sunrise of her soul. 
So I looked out and loved her, and at once 
Was flushed with rosy hopefulness and joy, 
Then felt her beauty's uncontrollable increase, 
And paler grew and paler with despair. 



ON THE SHORE. 

T T ERE many a time she must have walked, 

The dull sand brightening 'neath her feet, 
The cool air quivering as she talked, 
Or'laughed, or warbled sweet. 

The shifting sand no trace of her, 

No sound the wandering wind retains, 

But, breaking where the foot-prints were. 
Loudly the sea complains. 



A HILL-TOP. 

• 
T ITTLE more than a rock nearly bare, 

Rough with lichens grey-green, and a line 

Of pale yellow grass here and there, 

A few daisies, a tree, and a vine. 

But the woodbine's aglow and astream 
Like a cloud that the sun-setting fires, 

And star-like the still daisies gleam, 
And flame-like the cedar aspires ! 



A CLIMBER. 

t 

'nr^O climb and climb for hours and hours 

O'er rocks and ice and snow, 
To see at last the flower of flowers, 
Long sought, unseen till now. 

Bruised, bleeding, breathless to attain 

At last the final ledge. 
Lean over, look and see it plain, 

Just under the rough edge 

Of that ice-worn, frost-splintered rock, 

In that keen upper air, 
Where never shepherd seeks his flock, 

A lovely wonder there ; 



A CLIMBER. 

To gaze at it, and love it more 

And more the more 'tis seen, — 
Star-like, but blood-red at the core 



With cool green leaves serene ; — 



To feel its fragrance like a kiss 
Awake and take the heart, 

Its motion like a smile dismiss 
And keep despair apart. 

To love it, long for it, to lean 

Far and yet farther still. 
With trembling fingers touch the green 

And trembling leaves, and thrill, 

And thrilling reach again, and fall 

Whirling to where the slow 
Cold mockery glacier rivers crawl 

And waste away below, — 



37 



^g A CLIMBER, 

This was his life, this was his fate, 
A hard, long, lonely climb, 

A failure ; — ^but he stood elate 
Once in the air subHrae ! 



ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE 

A DRAMATIC POEM 



[/^ hope that tio one ivill mistake this littie " Andromeda" for an 
attetnpt to imitate a Greek tragedy. The resemblance is only superfi- 
cial, and it is very stipe rficial indeed, as " the jndicions," if any S7ich 
should chance to look into it, will see at oftce. There is a Chorus, there 
is dialogue, and there is narrative—all this to give me a chance to tell 
the story in a m.ixed fi)rm of lyric, drajnatic and descriptive verse. 
But all this {used in the freest way, without regard to any of the pecu- 
liarities of the ancient Chortts, and without an attempt to represent 
either ancient ways of life, or aficient forms of art), all this has been to 
me only as so much outer utost shell, into which, as convenient to my 
purpose, I have poured my ozvn anachronistic composition, preferring 
to try the experiment of filling up with that cloudy mixture to making 
believe, after laborious refiniftg, with something clearer perhaps, and 
perhaps only thinner. 

March, 1874.] 



ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. 

hi front of the King' s palace just before sunrise. 
EUDORA and a Group of Girls. 

EUDORA. 

All's over now, and all but us are gone. 

Yet we still linger, loth to go or stay, 

Shrinking together, shivering, half-benumbed 

In this chill atmosphere of sudden grief. 

Like sheep that huddle for a litde warmth. 

But let us go. Nay, wait, here comes the Queen. 

Kassiopeia. 
Girls, for I cannot rest within the house, 
Have ye no word of comfort for me here ? 

EUDORA. 

How can we comfort you, unhappy Queen, 
Ourselves so comfortless ? For what are words. 



42 ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. 



The wisest, could we speak them, but a new 
Insulting torment to the tortured soul, 
Like too much sunlight to the wilting flower ? 
There is no comfort, unless tears avail 
And vain complainings to unload the heart. 



Kassiopeia. 
Whom I should comfort, who should comfort me, 
The king, indoors, sits like a man of stone, 
Unmoving, speechless, with wide-open eyes. 
Not downcast, nor uplifted nor bedimmed. 
But straight before him staring hard and dry ; 
Nor dare I speak to him, for even now, 
Laying my hand upon him where he sat 
Low on the couch, he shrank as if from fire, 
And when (the old word unwittingly slipped forth) 
And when I called him Father, gave a laugh I 



ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. 43 

The Chorus. 
We do not weep to see 
The sun forsake the sky ; 
The waning moonlight we 
Can watch with tearless eye ; 
The birds, another home 
Desiring, fly afar ; 
We let them go and come, 
We know well where they are : 



We know they will return 
Nor keep too long away. 
The dearer that we yearn 
To have them ere we may, 
The dearer that they are 
So loth to tarry long, 
Sun, moon and every star 
And every flower and song. 



44 ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. 

But you, suiilike that warmed 
And filled our day with light; 
Moonlike that cheered and charmed 
And glorified our night ; 
Bird-like that made us blest 
With every happy tone ; 
Flower-like the loveliest 
And sweetest ever known ; 



But you, withdrawn afar 
From all you loved before, • 
We know not where you are, 
Shall see you never more ; 
Shall nor by night nor day. 
Nor soon nor later see, 
Gone the well-trodden way 
To cold obscurity. 



45 



ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. 

There is no word to say, 
Alas ! and nought to do, 
We know not what to pray 
Nor whom to pray it to. 
We can but weep as yet, 
Distrusting every cure, 
UnwiUing to forget, 
Unable to endure. 



PhINEUS {Entering as the song ceases.) 

But what is it you weep for or for whom ? 
Vague rumours of strange troubles bring me here 
With men-at-arms attended, if perchance 
I may be yet of service ; but even now 
Nothing for certain do I know of all 
The rumoured evils that ye fear or bear. 

Kassiopeia. 
Nothing is now to fear, too much to bear. 



46 ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. 

O, Phineus, friend, I have no daughter now, 
Andromeda is dead ! 

Phineus. 
Impossible ! 

Kassiopeia. 
'Tis the impossible that comes to pass. 
Do mothers kill the children whom they love 
Because they love them ? Or, is the reward 
Of lovely innocence a shameless death ? 

Phineus. 
She tortures me with riddles. Would to God 
Some one would tell me what she means by this ! 

Kassiopeia. 
And there comes one can tell you ; ask of him, 
He will not falter, telling you the tale. 



ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. ^y 

But as for me, nought is there in the earth 
More hateful to me than to see his face, 
Unless indeed it were to hear his voice. 

(^As she goes, Mo iris, the High Friest, e7itcrs.) 

Phineus. 
You know me, Moiris. I have heard strange tales 
Of sudden sorrow come upon this house. 
Tell me the truth, and let me know the worst. 

Moiris. 
Not willingly, for I, too, have a heart, 
Aye, and have learned by proof as well as proverb, 
That oft the unhappy bearer of ill news. 
Though innocent, to him who hears them seems 
A constant part, if not indeed a cause 
Of all the affliction that his words convey. 
Unjust, but justice is what men expect ! 

Phineus. 
I understand you ; but the Queen is gone. 



48 ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. 

Speak, for I grow impatient of suspense, 
And haply yet there may be found a cure, 
Or if no cure, the comfort of revenge. 

MoiRis. 
Cure there is none, but patiently to bear. 
And for revenge, 'tis with a mighty God 
And not with mortals you will have to deal. 

Phineus. 
Be plain, be plain ! 

MoiRis. 
Something you must have heard 
Of all we have suffered from a nameless beast. 
Sent us for punishment, that from the sea 
Comes inland daily to lay waste and slay : — 
According to an oracle's command, 
To save a wretched people from despair, 
Andromeda, our princess, to the beast 
Is this day made an offering, one for all. 



ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. 

Phineus. 
She is dead then ? Or is it still to do ? 

MoiRis. 
This morn ere sunrise taking her away, 
My priests and I, we brought her to the shore, 
Submissive, uncomplaining, strangely calm; 
There, not an hour ago, hard by the place 
Where first the monster rises every day, 
Fast bound to a rock we left her in the sea, 
Alive yet and alone. 

Phineus. 

Alive, alone, 
And there she may be yet, alive, alone. 
Half dead with terror and unfriendly grief! 

MOIRIS. 

'Twas so commanded by the oracle. 



49 



^o ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. 

Phineus. 
What set you on to ask the oracle ? 
What cause for so great anger, whose the blame ? 

MoiRis. 
Increasing ravage of our flocks and fields, 
Slaughter of folk, and terror, and the wrath 
Of terror growing frantic, and the tears 
And prayers of helpless sorrow set us on. 
The Queen's unheard-of folly was the cause ; • 
Who, finding too much happiness too flat, 
Must spice it with impiety, forsooth ! 
Likening Andromeda — not her's the fault — 
To deathless Goddesses ; nay, more than that 
(Unreasoning love is deadlier oft than hate), 
Boasting that altars should be built to her, 
And Sacrifice be done, and worship paid. 
And now, now, what a sacrifice is done ! 

Phineus. 
The Queen's words had a meaning then, tho' wild ; 
And yet the innocent must suffer all ! 



51 



ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. 

MoiRIS. 
Not all, not all ; and surely not the worst. 
No sense of guiltiness increased her pain, 
And all her suffering, and this she knew. 
Was for the advantage of the ones she loved. 

Phineus. 
Cold comfort there ! But still I have to hear 
What happened to the people and the land. 

MoiRis. 
You know the road that eastward for a mile 
Goes hence declining gently to the shore ; 
On either side of it what fields of grain. 
What vines all orderly, row after row, 
What pastures crowded with fair flocks and herds, 
What orchards, and what meadow-lands afar. 
Stretch right and left to meet the including sky, 
The comfortable houses and the barns 
With noise of children and with noise of fowls. 



52 ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. 

And the trim gardens near them with their flow- 
ers; — 
You have all these, have more than once, per- 
haps. 
Been filled with pleasure at the happy sight ; — 
Go now and see them ! where the heavy grain 
Reeled in the breeze or slumbered in the sun, 
Undreaming of the sickle ; where the fruit 
Golden and crimson 'mid the dark green leaves 
Of topmost bough and lowest shone and swung, 
Or gleamed unhurt among the dewy grass 
Of many an orchard ; where the wrinkled sheep 
Cropped audibly their pasture; where the cows. 
Mechanically working tireless jaws. 
Lay or stood drowsing ; where the children played 
I' the meadow with the daisies, or behind 
The leaning oxen in the clumsy cart 
Went jolting with the harvesters afield; 
Where wife or daughter now the farmer's meal, 
Fresh gathered from the garden, brought in-doors. 



ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. ^3 

And now a handful of selected flowers — 
O, why do I so dwell upon it all ? — 
When not ten days ago whoever passed 
Might gladden looking at such sights as these, 
Whoever passes sees a desert now. 
For not a day and night were passed away 
Since the vain Queen's defiance, when there came 
Shaming the light that let the thing be seen, 
A grisly horror from the shuddering sea. 
Utterly silent, with a sleepy eye. 
Loathsome to fascination, slow it crawled 
To where a group of children on the shore 
Huddling together stood without a cry 
Breathlessly staring — And at night it came, 
Trampling, defiling, beating down the grain, 
Uprooting shade and fruit-trees, tearing vines, 
Upturning gardens, poisoning springs and streams, 
Devouring cattle, rending them piece-meal. 
Strewing their carcases about the fields — 



54 ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. 

And the next day it came, and of the three 

Fishers that saw it there is one aUve. 

And the next night and the next day and night ; 

And so for six days, day and night it came 

As punctual as the sunrise and the stars, 

As tireless as the waters of the sea. 

And deadlier than the tempest. Till at last, 

The people, first half stupefied, and then 

Heroically patient, when they found 

No help in patience, and no help in arms, 

(What few among the soldiers dared affront 

The invulnerable monster, arms and all. 

Were torn and trampled shapeless in an hour,) 

Grew clamorous and then riotous in their pain. 

With proclamation of a new-found law. 

Who canfiot serve the people cannot ride / 

Phineus. 
Insolent wretches ! and what did the King ? 



ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. 55 

MOIRIS. 

He ruled his people; ruled tliem like a King, 
Serving and saving diem. He gave his word 
That he would serve and save them, gave them 

hope 
That he could serve and save them ; and so stilled 
And taught their passion patience, calmed their 

fear, 
And gave them faith and courage, that if trust 
And gratitude and reverence could avail 
To help him now, there were no need to grieve. 

Phineus. 
Aye, if they could — 

MoiRis. 

And so they can in time. 

Phineus. 
In time, in time ! In time is now ; and now, 
Now what do they avail ? Old man, you talk. 



56 ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. 

Their gratitude, their reverence, their trust ! 
Their selfishness, their cowardice — Good God ! 
To think that a great King should come to this, 
And a priest praise him for it ! Oracle ! 
Why ask the oracle ? or having asked. 
Who ever knew an oracle so dear 
Interpretation could not cloud its sense ? 
What were the words of this ? 

MoiRis. 

The words were these 
To save his land and people^ let the King 
Give up the very dearest thing he has, 
One life for many, to be bound and left 
Alone upon the sea-shore, to 7vait there 
The doom appointed, between dawn and day. 

Phineus. 
Could that not be evaded ? Why not call 
The Queen his dearest, and let her atone 
Her own destructive folly ? 



ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. 57 

MoiRIS. 

So the Queen 
Wished to interpret it. 

Phineus. 

But_>w/ perhaps — 

MoiRis. 
The Khig bade read it otherwise, and said, 
His wish was not to evade but to fulfil, 
His duty being not to cheat but save ? 

Phineus. 
To save, to save — why yes ! but whom to save ? 
Churls and their cattle I suppose. 'Tis strange ! 
But even then, say he had sent away 
The Princess from the palace, out of reach, 
Then he would not have had her — nay, by Heaven, 
Not once nor twice but many times the Queen, 
Here in the palace, promised her to me, 



^8 ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. 

And she was mine then surely, in a sense, — 
Had I but known, they should have let me know, 
They did me wrong to act before I came. 
Had I been here but yesterday, last night, 
I would have saved her spite of all; at least 
I could have carried her away by force — 
Now 'tis too late. 

MOIRIS (co7ttemphmisly at first.) 

Nay, why is it too late ? 
How do you know it is too late — for you ! 
She still was living when we left her there, 
Go take her now by force ! 

Ah ! what a thought 
Strikes me and shakes me with a wild desire ! 
O, Phineus, Girls, I know not what I think ! 
What if it were enough to leave her there, 
Fulfilling just the oracle's command, 
No less, no more ? and what if one should now, 
Aye, even now be not too late ? Prince, Prince, 



ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. 

You teach me to be subtle, think of it ! 
Is not the oracle's command obeyed, 
Even to the very letter, is it not ? 
Is not our duty done then to the full ? 
Have we not made the sacrifice complete, 
Given up the very dearest thing we had, 
Bound her and left her ? Can it be that this, 
May it not be that this shall be enough. 
Enough obedience to the heavenly will. 
Enough of punishment, enough of wrath ? 
And now if one could save her, one like you, 
Aye, one like you. I think I see it clear — 
One not an inmate of the sinful house. 
Not even a dweller in the afflicted land. 
One not included in the general curse. 
Nor in the prohibition that compelled 
Father, and mother and all other friends. 
Ah ! not to lose her, to abandon her ! 
You hesitate, you are thinking of it, think ! 
You have your men-at-arms ; 'twas not for us, 



59 



6o ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. 

The punished, to prevail against the beast ; 
But you, the gods, made placable at last, 
May let destroy the monster, aye, and save, 
And save Andromeda ! What say you, Prince, 
Am I too wild in this, or am I right ? 

Phineus. 
You are late, old man. With such a subtle mind, 
You might have saved her yesterday ; but now, 
Unless your subtlety can raise the dead, 
What good is it to talk of rescue now ? 
This is the imagination of remorse, 
Too late repenting its accursed deed, 
That clings with desperate longing to Perhaps. 
Too late, I say, you know it is too late. 
It is too late, she must be dead, she is ! 
Why then should I expose my men, my friends, 
To this sea-monster which yourself admit 
The King's own men-at-arms dare not oppose ? 
Is it less strong to-day than yesterday, 



ANDROMEDA 'S ESCAPE. 6 1 

Less fierce, less terrible, less sent fi'om God ? 
I know not what you want with me, old man, 
You never loved me — is there need, perhaps. 
Of other victims, that you fain would send 
Me to a combat that the rest avoid. 
Me to a rescue that the gods forbade ? 
Shall I go anger them once more, once more 
Bring punishment upon you worse than this ? 
And yet, O yet, if 'twere not — but it is ! 
Were it not merely madness — would I not — 
You know I would, though I should go alone. 

MoiRis, 
'Twas your own question, — and your own reply. 

Phineus. 
I have stayed here too long talking. Tell me, 

Girls, 
Is not the King within ? Did not the Queen 
Go to him when she left us ? (.Goes in.) 



62 ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. 

MOIRIS. 

Is it SO ? 
Is this the prince that prated of revenge ? 
Or if no cure the comfort of revenge ? 
Girls, for you heard me, did I seem to you 
To speak things merely foolish ? O, I thought 
To move him as the rising breezes move 
The unfettered boat that leans, and is away. 

EUDORA. 

Not foolish certainly, but hard to judge. 

For while you yet were speaking I beheved, 

But now, like an unwilling flag that late 

Straight streaming quivered like a windy flame, 

I sink, I flutter idly to and fro, 

Now this way and now that way swings my 

thought, 
But settling slowly to a calm despair. 

MOIRIS. 

And my hope sinks ; but, like the whirling ball 



ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. (^-^ 

On yonder springing water-jet that plays, 

Thrown off and downcast, it is restless still. 

And ever struggling upward climbs and falls. 

Springs, slips and drops and wavers, and again 

Upspringing bird-like no one can tell how, 

Look ! hovers trembling, on the very point ! 

I take it for an omen ! Yes — and yet — 

O, that this prince were but a prince indeed! 

But even the gods themselves work but with 

means, 
And doubting him who seemed the heaven-sent 

means, 
I doubt myself, whom else I would affirm 
To have been undoubtedly inspired of God. 
But I will follow him, will once again. 
And ah ! less passionately put my case. 
More clearly therefore, and perhaps prevail. 
I wronged him doubtless and I wronged my 

cause. 



64 AXDROMEDA S ESCAPE. 

No iaith inspirmg because wanting faith. 

Still, snll I think that she may yet be saved. 

{Gees ill-) 

The Chorus. 
Is this the man we idly thought 

so cold and hard before ? 
Surdy his love is more than ours 

even as his hope is more. 
Yet what avails it more than ours, 

whose weakness we deplore ? 

And yet strange stories have been told, 

aye, even in our days, 
Of dreadful death beyond all hope 

escaped in wondrous ways. 
One tale, indeed, how many a time, 

against my mother's knee 
WeU nestling have I begged to hear, 

the tale of Danae ! 



ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. 65 



The beautiful, the motherless, 

the daughter of a king, 
Who in her father's eves became 



as an accursed thing. 



For having heard it prophesied 

that by his daughter's son 
Should come his dreaded death to him 

in some strange way unknown; 
"With that remorseless cruelty — 

which only comes of fear, 
As soon as e'er her boy was bom, 

his only daughter dear 
He set adrift. — her child and her, — 

a child herself was she, 
To drown or starve or die of grief 

upon the homeless sea. 

But gently as its mother's arms 

upbore the helpless child, 
5 



66 ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. 

As gently was her boat upborne 

by waters strangely mild, 
And gentle as herself the winds 

were round her night and day, 
Still wafting her as in a dream 

along the appointed way. 
Till to a glistening shore she came, 

edged with a lace-like foam, 
And in sea-girt Seriphos found 

a refuge and a home. 

There many a year she lived and there 

still Hves, 'tis said, to-day. 
Well loved and loving with her boy, 

of whom the travellers say 
That there is none so beautiful, 

so hero-like as he. 
As he whose early, awful death 

seemed once a certainty : 
And, ah ! would God, Andromeda ! 

lost one for whom we wail. 



ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. 67 

That many a child might hear of you 
hereafter such a tale ! 

Thus, as a ship-wrecked man, escaped 

a moment to the shore, 
Hurled thither by the very waves 

that baffled him before. 
Half-drowned and fainting and afraid, 

can only clutch the sand, 
And lie flat on his face and cling 

and cling with foot and hand, 
For fear the waters' backward rush, 

if he attempt to crawl. 
May tear him off and bear him back 

and drown him after all ; — 
Thus we, a moment lifted up 

from midst the bitter sea 
Of helpless grief and hurled on hope, 

cling to it doubtfully, 
Expecting when the refluent wave 

shall, with a grating roar, 



68 ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. 

Like pebbles whirl us down the slope 
of that unsettled shore, 

And sea- ward sweeping us' afar, 

o'erwhelm and sink us there, 

With all the weight of all the waves 
of desolate despair ! 

MOIRIS (Eeturning.) 

It needed a rude shock to waken me ; 
But I have had it : I shall dream no more. 

The Chorus. 
'Tis hard, 'tis hard, it is too hard to bear 
That love should be so helpless : it can bleed 
To see the loved one suffer, it can burn 
Itself to suffer in the loved one's place. 
Can feel it shameful to be free from pain. 
Can long to die to save her from a pang. 
Can do all this, and this is all it can. — 



ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. 69 

EUDORA. 
But who is this that panting and aflame, 
Comes stumbHng and yet running up the walk ? 

The Messenger. 
If I could see him — can I see the King ? 
Strange things have happened, I have news to tell. 

MoiRis. 
What kind of news ? nay, there can be but one. 

EUDORA. 

Are you so ignorant then of all things here 
That you can hope to see the King to-day ? 
Ah ! and yet there he comes. 

KePHEUS (Coming/rom the palace.) 

Still with us, girls ? 
Moiris, I wish to talk with you. Who's this ? 

MoiRis. 
A man who brings you news, he says. 



yo ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. 

Kepheus. 

Ah, news. 
The world goes on, things happen, there is news ! 
Well then, whence came you, and what is your 
news ? 

The Messenger. 
Straight from the sea-shore I ran hither, sire, 
To tell you that the Princess — 

MoiRis. 

Fool ! be still ! 

Kepheus. 
Your shoulder for a moment, Moiris. Strange ! 
I thought I had been dipped so deep in grief 
Nothing could hurt me. 

What you mean to say, 
Is that the Princess certainly is dead. 
Thanks, 'twas strange news to run with, though 
the intent — 



ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. ji 



I think I know you ! are not you that one 
Of the three fisher-brothers that escaped ? 
I see it now ; Moiris, you understand, 
Doubtless the shock of it has turned his brain. 
Let him be cared for kindly. Peasant, King! 
Ah God ! how little difference after all 
Is there between the peasant and the King ! 

The Messenger. 
Nay, sire ; but hear me for a moment, sire ! 
Not dead I saw the Princess, but alive, 
I saw her living and the beast is dead. 

Kepheus. 
By Heavens, this is too much ! 

Moiris. 

Nay, hear him, sire ! 
This is not madness but the truth I think, 
The very truth which I so dimly saw, 
And could not prove and could not disbelieve. 



7 2 ANDROMEDA 'S ESCAPE. 

Kepheus. 
Well, well, tell out your story. 

The Messenger. 

When the priests 
Went down this morning early to the shore 
I followed them, in hopes that thus I might 
Go and come safely from the fishing-place, 
Where many things were left that dreadful day, 
Mine and my brothers', which, for I am poor, 
I needed sorely and thought worth the risk. 
I found them all, just as we left them there. 
Nets, lines and tools, and even the skiff unhurt, 
Though only tethered to a spike i' the sand ; 
A little chafed she was, but nothing much. 
And not a thole-pin broken, and both oars 
Safe where w^e left them — I was glad enough. 
And got all snug as quickly as I could, 
And then was thinking whether 'twould be safe 
To take the boat round by the point or not. 



ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. 73 

Or whether I had better draw her up 

And leave her on the sand, and go afoot 

After the priests, with what I needed most 

Slung in a bundle — I was thinking this, 

When on a sudden the slow rippling sea, 

Till now smooth as a meadow and as still, 

Began to hiss and murmur on the sand, 

And break and foam and writhe against the rocks, 

And gnash white teeth abroad ; the while a wind 

Blew cold from the eastward, where a flock of 

clouds 
Showed red as blood. I shivered and stood still 
And looked round fearfully; the priests were 

gone; 
They grey gulls silently flew round and round ; 
The white robe of the Princess 'gainst the rock 
Looked cold and awful ; and then all at once 
Was splendid, dazzling, like a cloud that floats 
Close to the sun ; and whether it was that. 



74 ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE, 

Or whether 'twas the flashing of the waves 
Beneath the sudden sunrise made me wink 
I know not, but when next I looked I saw 
Beside the Princess a young god perhaps ; 
With hair hke sun-beams blowing from his face, 
Flushed like a runner's and with angry eyes ; 
And in his hand a sword which, as he stooped 
To something hideous in the curdling foam. 
He sent down flaming, and drew back bedimmed. 
And in a minute all about the rock 
The beaten waters were a bloody froth. 
In which the monster raging, thrashed and 

screamed. 
Then suddenly leapt clawing, with a roar, 
Clean out of water, and down plunging dead 
Dashed spray like hail-stones, and uphove the sea, 
All this I saw and knew not if I saw 
Or dreamed it rather ; and I saw him loose 
The fetters from the Princess, and half lift, 



ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. >jt 

Half lead her, blushing, from the rock to shore. 
So glad he was, with such a joyous smile ! 
Not when so terribly he whirled his sword 
Seemed he more god-like — But he bade me run 
Hither to tell you he would soon be here, 
He and the Princess — 

Kepheus. 

But the people, ah ! 

MoiRis. 
Yes, and the people ! And the Princess, both ! 
Thus is the oracle both ways fulfilled. 
Remember, sire, it did not ask her death, 
As in our ignorant sorrow we supposed. 

Kepheus. 
O Kassiopeia ! Come with me ; — and you. 

(They go in together.) 



76 ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. 

The Chorus. 
'Tis he that is dead, that is dead ! 
He is dead, it is he that is dead, 
And his is the blood on the wave, 
On the wave that is red where he hes, 
Where he Hes, where he moves, when he moves. 
Where he moves when he moves in his blood, 
Where he moves at the will of the waves. 
At the will of the winds and the waves ! 



And the horrible eye-lids are closed, 
And the horrible eyes are concealed. 
And cold are the nostrils that flamed ; 
And set are the jaws that devoured ; 
And quenched is the poisonous breath ; 
And the terrible trampling feet, 
They move at the will of the waves. 
At the will of the winds and the waves ! 



ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. 77 



But you, who were dead are alive ! 

But you, we shall see you again ! 

Bright eyes that we thought were gone out. 

Sweet voice that we thought was made mute, 

Warm heart that we fancied was cold, 

Dear love that we thought we had lost, 

We shall see you and hear you again, 

We shall have you once more in our arms ! 

And you, unexpected desire ! 
O you, with delivering sword, 
Who sprang to the maiden to save, 
Who stooped to the monster to slay ! 
O you, whether Hero or God, 
To the gods you are certainly dear, 
As to us you are dear, and to her 
Whom we pray you to hasten to bring ! 

Yea, hasten, O hasten, for now, 
Even now in the midst of our joy. 



J 8 ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. 

We are tortured with doubt and with fear ; 
As a mother that over the bed 
Of her boy that they brought her for drowned, 
Hangs trembhng, and dare not beUeve 
When she sees, when she doubts if she sees 
That he moves, that he opens his eyes. 

{Enter Perseus and Atidromeda, Andromeda talking as they come.) 

Andromeda. 
Look, Perseus, there's my rose-tree, still in bloom 
And there's my elm-tree, like a lily-flower, 
They planted it for me when I was bom ; 
And the empty bird's-nest in its branches — O 
Nothing is changed, — how natural it seems ! 
And there's Eudora, and the girls, — Ah girls, 
I thought I never should have seen you more ! 
O those black dresses ! — 

(Seeing the King ivho appears in the doorway.) Father ! 

Kepheus. 

(Taking her in his arms as she runs forivard.) AndrOmCua ! 

(They go in together.) 



ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. -jg 

EUDORA. 
We know your name is Perseus, and we know 
That but for you we never more had heard 
The happy voice that named you. But much more 
We long to have you tell us, if you will. 
I am a cousin of Andromeda's, 
And we are all her playmates, schoolmates, friends. 

Perseus. 
Yes, I am Perseus ; and though not by name 
Yet you have heard of me before, I think. 
Andromeda, — the Princess, knew me too. 
The son of Danae who far from home 
Longs in Seriphos for her native land, 
Which she shall see, which that she soon may see 
Is why I left her and why I am here. 
For not alone, O maidens, in this land 
Is sorrow an inevitable guest. 
Against whose entrance there is no defence 
Of goodness or of beauty or of power, — 



So ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. 

Else had I not been with you here to-day, 

Else had I never known you, never known 

Andromeda perhaps, — 'Tis wonderful. 

For see how strangely it has come about. 

My mother, Danae, as you have heard, 

Came to Seriphos, and there many a year 

Lived not unhappy, — for she had at least 

The daily happiness a mother feels 

In watching over the young helpless life 

Whose flattering weakness is a source of strength 

In loneliness, in sorrow, and in doubt, 

Of strength to bear, to hope, too, and enjoy. 

And I was happy, happier than I knew, 

As year by year I grew in strength and height, 

And whom I loved as mother soon began 

To love as sister also. So we lived. 

But now King Polydektes, a hard man, 

Imperious and ambitious, (unlike him, 

Who saw and saved us as we came to shore, 

Diktys, his brother, an unselfish friend), 



ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. gj 

But now the King, perceiving me a man 
In strength and stature, and ahnost in years, 
Began to frown upon me with alarm 
As one whose rivalry might by and by 
Frustrate the plan he had to attain the rule 
Of the Argive kingdom in my mother's right. 
And so at first an oft rejected suit. 
Still urged, as always, in the mask of love, 
Was urged again ; and yet again denied ; 
Till, finding it in vain to wear a mask. 
The wooing changed to tyranny at length. 
My mother, still inflexible, was made 
Close prisoner in the palace, there to stay 
Till, as the King said with an angry sneer. 
But crafty, too, to rid himself of me : 
Till either she come forth my wedded Queen., 
Or death release her ; or her boy forsooth 
Find if he dare., and bri?ig me if he can 
Medusa's head for ransom. I set forth 
That very night upon the doubtful quest. 

6 



82 ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE, 

EUDORA. 

Medusa's head that turneth all to stone 
Who ever look upon her face to face ! 
Alas ! dear friend, a more than doubtful quest 
It is you go on; and too great a loss 
It were to lose you by so dread a death. 
Were it not wiser, with King Kepheus' aid, 
Returning to the tyrant — 

Perseus. 

Nay, my friends, 
But I am now returning, having here 
The ransom that the tyrant bade me bring. 
But bringing which I shall not have his thanks; 
Here in this bag I wear it by my side : 
Athene heartened me and was my shield, 
And Zeus and Hermes were my strength and skill. 

EUDORA. 

How came you to the Gorgon, and O how 
'Scaped you unfrozen from the awful eyes ? 



ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. 

Perseus. 
I never saw them and they saw not me. 

EUDORA. 

Now you are laughing at us. 

Perseus. 

Nay; 'tis true. 
When from Seriphos to the Argive shore 
The ship had brought me, and I stood alone 
In mine own country and without a friend, 
And knew not what to do nor where to go, — 
All day I journeyed westward, and by night 
Still struggled onward ; till, tired out at last, 
I lay down anywhere and fell asleep. 
And sleeping dreamed ; and saw Athene there, 
Who told me where and when to go and how ; 
And gave a mirror and a shield in one, 
In whose bright calm unruffled I might see 
Medusa's image, not her deadly self, 



83 



84 ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. 

And by her image knowing her, unhurt, 

Know how to strike, and striking, how to slay. 

And in a dream Hermes I saw from Zeus 

Sent with unerring sword, and words of cheer, 

And promise of a helmet to be had, 

Which makes invisible, and winged shoes 

That walk on air as easy as on earth. 

So on I journeyed with a hopeful heart, 

Past Atlas weary with the weight of heaven ; 

Past Twilight glimmering with a single star; 

Past sight of mortals, to the final sea, 

The Earth's inclusion and the sea-nymphs' home ; 

And there the helmet and the winged shoes 

The sea-nymphs gave me ; and beyond the sea, 

Thro' drear waste places full of wind and cloud, 

Still on I laboured and still on and on 

Till by and by I knew that I was there : 

An awful place inhuman and alone ; 

There the sun shines not, and the moon is gone, 



ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. g^ 

The white stars dwindle, and a something moans ; 
For 'tis not utter darkness, utter cold. 
Not dark enough to quite put out the eyes, 
Not cold enough to quite benumb the heart, 
Darkness that broods upon, and cold that aches; 
Nor is it life, nor is it death, but still 
Something between them that may live or die. 
And like the place the face was that I saw 
Reflected sleeping in the silvery shield ; 
And now 'twas deadly, 'twas so cold and hard, 
And now 'twas pitiful, so full of grief, 
And now 'twas beautiful, so nearly calm. 
Long time I gazed upon its image there, 
Fixed in strange thought; and what had hap- 
pened next 
I dare not think, had not a sudden gleam 
And wavy movement of the unnoticed snakes, 
That in the ripplings of her tresses writhed, 
Thrilled me with fear, and made me quick to 
strike 



86 ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. 

Lest I be stricken. So I did the deed, 
And veiling close the intolerable face, 
Henceforth a help, and yet a terror too. 
Fled none too fast, till over shone the sun 
And under laughed the waters of the sea. 
How glad I was ! but not so glad as when 
I saw Andromeda, whom, — had I known 
That there was such a one in all the world — 
I would have gone to look for thro' the world. 
And there I found her as one might a pearl 
Tossed by the waves upon the careless shore : 
Not so, but rather by the liberal gods 
Brought there to bless me with a destined love. 

EUDORA. 

Now we shall lose you, for here comes the King. 

Kepheus. 
Oh ! Perseus, could I thank you as I would — 



ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. Sj 

Perseus. 
Nay, you would thank me more than I deserve. 

(They go in together.) 

The Chorus. 
At dawn how dull the dew 
Looked on the languid grass ! 
And paler the stars grew, 
And ah, how chill it was ! 
And not a bird was heard, 
And like the fluttering breath 
Of weakness near to death 
The uncertain breezes stirred. 

Now, every drop of dew 
That quivering feels the sun, 
With every lovely hue 
In earth that ever shone. 
In heaven or earth or sea. 
Or cloud, or flower, or foam, 



88 ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. 

Or in the birds that roam, 
Lightens incessantly. 

And now, 'neath the profound 
Blue of the sunny sky, 
How musically sound 
The breezes gliding by; 
And sweet the noises are 
Of wandering birds and bees, 
And sweet too is the sea's 
Low murmur from afar. 

And doves on easy wings, 
Snow-white in pure blue air, 
Follow in airy rings 
Each other here and there; 
Or on the sunny roof 
Make a voluptuous moan. 
Like the undreaded tone 
Of thunder gone aloof. 



ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. 89 

How beautiful it is ! 
Ah ! surely in the earth 
A lovelier morn than this 
Had never yet a birth : 
Save that, when first fi-om sleep 
The earth awoke at last, 
And breathing low and fast 
Began to watch the deep ; 

And beautifully bare. 
Unshaded by a cloud, 
Was not the sea aware 
That feared to breathe aloud ? 
And o'er the panting sea, 
And 'neath the leaning sky, 
The breezes were a sigh 
Of charmed expectancy : — 

For that, that was the morn 
AVhich after a long night, 



go ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. 

Saw Aphrodite born 
To fill the world with light; 
And fill with light the eyes 
That looked for death, and lo ! 
'Twas Love that dazzled so, 
As day began to rise ! 



PhINEUS (Entering after the song.) 

Girls, did he tell you who he is and what, 
This wandering hero ? has he any name ? 

EUDORA. 

Perseus, the son of Danae, the Prince 

Of the Argive country, and to be its King. 

Phineus. 
So he says, yes ; and how then came he here. 
Whence coming and where going all alone ? 



ANDROMEDA 'S ESCAPE. ^ i 



EUDORA. 
From seeking ransom he is on his way 
To free his mother from a tyrant's hands. 

Phineus. 
What tyrant and what mother ? but it serves : 
Kepheus is grateful and besides is rich. 

EuDORA. 

He has the ransom, which he won, not asked : 
Medusa's head that turneth men to stone. 

Phineus. 
His tongue at least it did not turn to stone. 

EuDORA. 

No ; nor his heart that shrank not, nor his arm. 

Phineus. 

By Heaven, nor mine, if that is what you mean. 



92 ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. 

EUDORA. 
That Perseus saved Andromeda I mean. 

Phineus. 
And so 'd have I, had I not thought her dead. 

EUDORA. 

But as for him he saw she was aHve. 

Phineus. 
Not seeking her he found her but by chance. 

EuDORA. 

No one entreated him to go, you mean. 

Phineus. 
He had a happy chance is what I mean. 

EuDORA. 

And made a happy use of it, it seems. 



ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. 93 

Phineus. 
Well, take him for a hero if you will. — 
Nay, nay, I am but jesting : — 'twas a deed 
Worth praise and gratitude ; I praise him too, 
And am most grateful to him ; I have cause. 
You know what cause I have for gratitude. 
I love Andromeda, have loved her long. 
The Queen has promised me she shall be mine. — 
Girls, we are friends together are we not ? 
Befriend me now, for now, to tell the truth, 
Somehow I seem bewildered, lonely, strange, 
Like a man lost and know not what to do, 
I missed a chance this morning, as you say : 
My grief disheartened me and made me blind, 
You too, you all of you believed her dead. 
A careless stranger, with unclouded eye, 
Saw clearer, acted quicker, that is all. 
I do not grudge him glory, 'tis his due. 
Nor gratitude in reason, — but the excess — 



94 ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. 



Andromeda's, you know, a kind of girl 
Apt to be overgrateful, apt to see 
More than there is in ordinary things. 
'Tis that that troubles me. — This Perseus now, 
Who comes to save her as if from the sky, 
What may she not imagine him to be ? 
And then how easy too for him, in turn, 
To fancy there were something more implied 
Than eager gratitude for service done 
In what I can imagine may have been 
Andromeda's too liberal word and way. 

EUDORA. 

For shame, to speak of her in such a way ! 

Phineus. 
Nay, but I do not blame her. I foresee 
That there might be an error which to avoid 
I wish you now to help me, that is all. 



ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. 95 

EUDORA. 
There is an error but it is your own. 

Phineus. 
You think that I am needlessly alarmed ; 
Perhaps I am, I hope I am, and yet 
I must not let myself again be foiled 
For want of acting promptly. Help me here, 
You think that he is what he says, a Prince. 

EUDORA. 

A very Prince. 

Phineus. 
At least he is not a churl. 
So much the better. Open-hearted, proud, 
I think he can be trusted, — there it is. 
Once let him be persuaded she is mine ! 
Help me in this, Eudora, and all's well. 
My trouble passes, and I see my way. 



g6 ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. 

Do this for me, contrive that he shall know- 
As soon as possible that she is mine ; 
She is, she is, I will not give her up ! 

EUDORA. 

She is, she is ! She is not, no indeed ! 
Nor ever shall be if my prayer prevail. 
Yours our Andromeda ! that she is yours ! 
Go tell him so yourself, tell Perseus so ! 
That she is yours, that she is yours of course, 
Of course is yours, as like belongs to like 
Or as the captive to the captor, go ! 
Tell him that she is yours, and tell him too 
How Moiris urged you to go take your own, 
And tell him what you answered to his prayer. 
Tell him how long she has been yours, and ask, 
Ask him if anywhere along the shore 
He saw you hastening to redeem your own, 
With men-at-arms to help you ; or if there 



ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. 

Alone he found her in the lonely place, 
Unclaimed of any but approaching death. 
Go ask him this ; and then say she is yours ! 
But as for me, if I were to decide, 
I think Medusa were the one for you, 
She will not vex you with too warm a heart ! 

Phineus. 
But first for him who set you on, and then — 

(Goes.) 

The Chorus. 
Like an obstructing fog that chills 
And numbs the narrowing space it fills, 
Blots out the meadows and the trees. 
Blots out the houses by degrees, 
And all the excluded world around 
Makes colourless and vague of sound, 
And all the sky and all the sea 
But a disheartening memory; — 

7 



97 



g8 ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. 

O passionate heart and pure and true, 
Andromeda ! like this to you, — 
Than the sea-monster more to fear 
Untamed, unchecked in his career, — 
The wasting death-in-Hfe would be 
Of this man's cold proximity. 

But like the sunlight and the wind 

That shake, that send the pierced and thinned 

And shivering mists apart, afar, 

Till bright and broad the waters are 

Beneath the broad blue heaven that lie 

With beckoning smiles from shore to sky ; 

And green and gold for many a mile 

The trees that sing, the fields that smile ; — 

Like these and more, to you shall be 

The conquering love that sets you free, 

That sets you free, that sets you where 

In Love's expanding light and air, 



ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. ^^ 

Is endless growth from hour to hour 
Of lovely bud to lovelier flower. 

{As the song ceases Moiris is seen cojni)ig slowly from the J>alace.) 
EUDORA. 

But look, 'tis Moiris like a man amazed. 
Something has happened. Ah, we were to blame. 
What may not Phineus have been stung to do ! 

MoiRis. 
O, I have seen what I cannot believe, 
What would to Heaven I could forget again ! 
But it was necessary, it was just. 

EuDORA. 

Ah, Heaven be praised, it was not Perseus then, 
Just now Prince Phineus left us with a threat — 

Moiris. 
Yes, and well nigh fulfilled it ; 'twas his plan 
That some half dozen of his men-at-arms 



lOo ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. 

Lying in ambush by the Western gate 

Should silently seize Perseus, by himself 

Lured thither unsuspicious, and at speed 

Carry him off, and either over sea 

Send him unhurt to Argos, if he chose, 

Promising never to return again. 

Or hold him in imprisonment, or worse. 

This we learned afterwards. 'Twas all prepared, 

Horses and men in waiting, but so blind 

A rage came over him, as you shall hear, 

That all was thwarted terribly. ^The King, 

Perseus and I were in the inner court. 

Talking together, walking up and down, 

When Phineus came and found us. With a face 

Working as clouds work in a wind, a voice 

Half whisper and half hiss, he first aside 

Spoke with the King a moment, and then turned,— 

Handling his sword-hilt with a shaky hand 

That made the loose blade rattle in the sheath, — 



ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. jqi 

To Perseus fiercely ; and with heavy breath, 
Like one repeating a set form of words, 
Said something undistinguished, such a strange 
Half-human sound his voice was, hke a moan, 
Only I caught the ending, Will you go ? 
At which the King indignant and ashamed, — 
Phineus, remember that, that we are akm, 
Disg7'ace me not before my guest, before 
My benefactor : be a man / But he, 
More like a beast that leaps and is withheld 
And grows the fiercer as it feels the chain. 
Drew and ran dumbly, and with all his might 
Straight struck at Perseus where he stood un- 
armed, 
(His sword and shield left hanging in the hall) 
And certainly had killed him, but the King 
Caught on his own, that shivered in his hand. 
The heavier weapon. At which Phineus laughed. 
And — while the King cried Coward, wait/ and 
ran 



I02 ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. 

Swift to the hall to arm himself — said Noiv / 

Now then I have you, if my arm, forsooth, 

Fail me not, paralyzed before the face 

Whose impudence Medusa could not bear ! 

But Perseus at the taunting words, at once, 

Like one who starts from musing at a touch, 

Sprang back, still facing him, and with swift hands, 

« 
Tore open the small satchel at his belt 

And crying Take it then ! as Phineus rose 

With sword swung over him in haste to strike, 

(For now the King came running through the 

door) 
Stretched out his arm, and turned away his 

eyes. — 
And Phineus, who stood facing me, I saw 
Stare, leaning forward like a bird that feels 
The snake's eyes drawing ; and then on his face 
Fall like a stone, and He there like a stone. 



ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. 103 

EUDORA. 
'Twas I who helped enrage him : I was wrong, 
Not thmking what the consequence might be. 
Too Hke his own my fault was, to obey 
No law but selfish impulse ; and yet here. 
In the misfortunes of this house, this land. 
Was plain enough example of the ills 
Which only thoughtlessness may bring about. 

MoiRis. 
Hard to keep always are the laws of life ; 
The most are careless, and the careful fail : 
And thus it is that all men suffer pain. 
Their own and others which they give and take ; 
For deeds once done are in the common air 
To taint or purify what all must breathe. 
Well, then, lives he who thinks of all he does 
As the producing of germ after germ. 
And well for him, whom though he know not how, 



104 ANDROMEDA'S ESCAPE. 

The love of others, hke a law constrains, 
Whether to suffering or to action called. 
But arrogance is like the towering wave 
That runs and breaks upon a barren shore. 



BALLADS 



HOW ROLAND BLEW THE HORN. 

" Chanson de Roland. " See Ludlow's " Popular EJ>ics of the Middle 
Ages." 

I. 

O O Roland and his companies 
Were left to keep the rear, 
While Charles went forward into France, 
Though with a secret fear. 

Meantime the Saracens, a host, 

Lay in the woods unseen ; 
Bright was the morning — all at once, 

Outflashing from the green ! 

As many as the glittering leaves. 

From spear and helmet flew 
The dazzling lights ; and all at once 

A thousand trumpets blew. 



Io8 ^OW ROLAND BLEW THE HORN-. 

Said Oliver, " Now sure enough 
We shall have battle to-day ! " 

And Roland laughing answered him, 
" By Heaven, I hope we may ! " 

But OHver without a word 

Ran straight to a pine-tree tall, 

And quickly clomb it, and amazed 
To Roland 'gan to call. — 

*' Ah ! such a tumult as I see 
Of helms and hauberks bright ! 

Sure such a host of men before 
Was ne'er in one man's sight ! 

"We shall have battle here to-day, 
The like was never known ; 

And this that Ganilo knew well 
Who left us here alone. 



HOW ROLAND BLEW THE HORN. 109 



" But thwart him while there yet is time, 
Sound, Roland, sound the horn, 

And Charles will hear it, and his host, 
And hasten to return ! " 

Said Roland, " I will sound it not ! 

Mad were I to forego 
The praise which I shall win to-day 

Throughout all France, I know ! 

"Wait till you see old Durandal 

Whirl flaming in the light ! 
Wait till you see him to the hilts 

All bloody in the fight!" 

Said Ohver, " I know the way 

Of Durandal of old ; 
I know how stout an arm you have. 

And how your heart is bold. 



no HOW ROLAND BLEW THE HORN. 

" But I, I tell you, I have seen 

The Saracens of Spain, 
The hills, the vales are thick with them, 

Like grass they fill the plain. 

"A little band are we, my firiend, 

Too few for such a host ; 
I charge you, Roland, sound the horn, 

Or all of us are lost ! " 

" Never for Pagans will I sound 

The horn for help to call ! 
The more they are, the infidels, 

The more I scorn them all ! 

"If I am rash, yet you are wise 

And both of us are stout ; 
And if our company be less 

Than all that Pagan rout, 



HO W ROLAND BLE W THE HORN. 1 1 1 

" On horse-back and well-armed we are, 

And not a coward here : 
Lead you with lance, and I with sword, 

And what is there to fear ? " 

So said he, and to Turpin then. 
The Archbishop, called aloud : — 

*' Now then, or ere we go afield 
Against this Pagan crowd, — 

" Now then, my Lord, absolve us all. 

And bless us speedily ! " 
So fi"om his horse the Archbishop spake 

To all the company : — 

"Lord Barons, here we are alone, 

The King by this is far ; 
'Tis not his fault we are surprised. 

Nor ours, but here we are ; 



112 HOW ROLAND BLE W THE HORN. 

"And here is battle sure enough, 

'Tis easy enough to see 
The Saracens, though to count them all 

A harder task 'twould be : 

*' Bethink you then, repent your sins, 
Pray mercy of God, and go ! 

The penance that I order is — 
Strike, and strike hard the foe ! " 

So said he; and, dismounting there, 
They knelt down every one 

For Turpin's blessing, and again' 
Were ready to be gone. 

So forth they went, at head of them 

Roland with easy mind; 
To th' foe his look was proud and stern, 

To his friends 'twas mild and kind. 



HO W ROLAND BLE W THE HORN. 1 1 3 

And pleasantly he spake to them, 

" My Lords, ride gently on. 
Here shall a mighty martyrdom 

Of Pagans be anon!" 

Said Oliver, " I say no more, 

Let who will have the blame, 
'Twill not be Charles's fault, if France 

This day be brought to shame." 

So said he, and 'gan cry aloud, 
" Lord Barons, for God's sake, 

Hold you the field, strike hard your blows, 
Expect to give and take ! 

"Together now, have you forgot 

The war-cry of the King ? " 
So cried he ; and who heard them shout 

Monjoie ! for answering, 



114 HOW ROLAND BLEW THE HORN. 

Might well be moved to bravery, 

So heartily they cried, 
As forward all together now 

They lightly 'gan to ride. 

And now they meet. And first of all 
Was Roland's sword let go, 

Bright Durandal, and down the spine 
Cleft with a single blow, 

Asbroth, King's nephew, peer of Spain, 
Who boasted his should be 

The sword of Roland for his own. 
Fell silent suddenly. 

And headlong backward from the spear 

Of Oliver as soon, 
Falsaro, the King's brother fell ; 

And for a third went down 



HO W ROLAND BLE W THE HORN. 1 1 5 

Corsalis, dead on Turpin's lance 

That ran him thro' and thro' ; 
While Angelier with swifter sword 

The swift Malprimis slew. 

His friend the Emir followed him, 

By good Berenger slain ; 
And from side to side Duke Samson cut 

The Almacer at wain. 

"A Baron's blow! " the Archbishop said, 
So fared they, sword and lance, 

Peers of the Saracens with Peers 
Of Christendom and France. 

Meantime a general battle raged ; 

And there the Pagans yield ; 
By thousands fell the Saracens, 

By thousands fled the field. 



n6 IIOW ROLAND BLEW THE HORN. 

"How now!" said Roland, "Oliver, 
How say you now, my friend ? 

Were ever better vassals known 
Than these to fight and fend ? " 

So said he, riding o'er the field ; 

But his heart began to ache. 
And in his eyes and Oliver's 

The tears rose as he spake : 

So many kinsmen saw they dead, 

So dark forebodings rose, 
For well they knew that morning's work 

Was nowhere near its close. 

Out rang the Pagan trumpets loud, 
The dragon-banners stream ; 

On came the King's own army now, 
At head of them Abisme. 



now ROLAND BLEW THE HORN. nj 

King's favorite he, as black as pitch, 

Fonder of blood than gold ; 
At him, swift on his Polish horse, 

Straight rode the Archbishop bold. 

And clean thro' jewelled shield and mail 

Clove him from side to side — 
" Full safe the cross is in the care 

Of Turpin!" the French cried. 

Then fierce the fight was all around, 
Twice, thrice the Pagans stood 

Or ere they fled — too few the French 
For such a multitude. 

And fewer and fewer still they grow ; 

Berenger's with the slain, 
Samson is dead, and Angelier 

And Gerer and Gerain. 



Il8 HOW ROLAND BLEW THE HORN. 

11. 

Then Roland seeing such a loss, 

(For all but sixty there 
O' the French were dead) with heavy heart 

Called out to Oliver : 

" For God's sake see how many knights, 

Dear friend, are lying low ! 
Now would that Charles were here to help ! 

How shall we let him know ? " 

Said Oliver, " I know not how ; 

No, and I cannot, I ! 
Better than come to such a shame 

'Twere for us all to die ! " 

Said Roland then, "But if I sound 

With all my might the horn, 
Charles, who is in the gates of Spain, 

Will hear it and return." 



HOW ROLAND BLEW THE HORN, 1 19 

Said Oliver, " And if you do, 

It will be such a shame. 
As will outlast your kinsmen all. 

And blemish all you name. 

"You would not sound it in the first 

Of this unequal fight, 
Ere fell so many a baron brave, 

So many a noble knight ; 

"You were too fond of glory then. 

As now of shame," he said, 
"We are too few to call for help 

Among so many dead!" 

Said Roland then, " Old friend of mine, 
Why are you wroth with me ? " 

" Comrade, because it is your fault," 
He answered bitterly. 



I20 ^OW ROLAND BLEW TILE HORN. 

" Brave knights are dead for you to-day, 
And you yourself must die, 

And France be shamed ; to-day is gone 
The Loyal Company!" 

But Turpin heard them and rode up ; 

" Cease wrangling, Sirs, for shame ! 
The horn can help us nothing now, 

Yet blow it all the same. 

"'Tis better that the King should come. 

He can avenge us then 
Upon these Pagans, who must not 

Be let go home again. 

*' For us — upon a famous field 
Dead shall he find us here. 

In time to bury us before 
The wolf and kite appear." 



HO W ROLAND BLE \V THE HORN. 1 2 j 

"Well said," said Roland, and at once 

(Till from his mouth outflew 
The bright red blood, and well nigh burst 

His temples were) he blew. 

He blew a blast so loud and long, 

Or ere his breath was spent, 
O'er wood and stream for thirty leagues 

It sounded and it went. 

Charles heard it sounding loud and long, 

And all his companies; 
" Long breath that horn has ! " said the King, 

" I know whose horn it is ! 

" 'Tis Roland's horn, ne'er would it sound 

But in the midst of fight. 
My men do battle ; cry my cry ! 

Bear succour to my knights ! " 



122 HOW ROLAND BLEW THE HORN. 

They turn in haste, they ride in haste, 
And loud the trumpets blow ; 

They ride in grief, they ride in wrath. 
Too far off is the foe. 

And swift the streams, and deep the vales 
And hard the hills to climb : 

Ride as they will, ride as they may 
They cannot be in time. 

But Roland looking round the field 

'Gan, like a gentle knight, 
Lamenting for the many dead 

Of that unequal fight — 

" Lord Barons, Lord have mercy now 
On all your souls," he saith, 

" Ne'er knew I better men than you. 
True vassals to the death ! 



HOW ROLAND BLEW TLLE LLORN. 123 

" So many lands ye won for Charles, 
Such fame for France before ! * 

O, land of France, God save you now ! 
We shall not see you more. 

'' Here shall we have our martyrdom, — 

But it shall cost them dear ! 
Together then, and such a death 

Let ours be now and here, 

"That fair France be not shamed by us. 

And when the King anon 
Here finds us dead, among a host 

Of foes fifteen for one, 

" He will not fail to bless us all 

For such a stubborn fight," 
So said he, and straight went afield 

With Durandal the bright. 



124 ^OIV ROLAND BLEW THE LIORN. 

And at his words the French again 

Monjoie / began to cry, 
And strike and spare not, desperately, 

Well knowing they must die. 



GUDRUN. 



{See Ludlow" s "Popular Epics" and {Miss Leatherbrow" s) " Tke 
Chronicle of Gudrun.") 



I. 

T LL counsel gave the cruel Queen 

Gerlinta to her son 
Hartmut, who wooed Gudrun in vain, 
Gudrun whom Herwig won : 

"To Hegelingen twice you have been 
Where Hettel swells with pride, 

And twice your suit that haughty king 
Too scornfully denied. 



126 GUDRUN. 

"If you must love Gudrun, I say 

Woo her and win her too. 
Take ships of war and men-at-arms 

When next you go to woo. 

" Herwig by Seyfrit hard beset 

Has sent for Hettel's aid, 
And Hettel now is on the way 

To Seeland it is said. 

" And with him grim old Wate and Frut 

And Horant all are gone. 
With boys and women and old men 

Queen Hilda keeps the town. 

"To Matalan then, and take your bride 
And your revenge in one ; 

Gudrun will like you well enough 
When once the deed is done." 



GUDRUiV. 127 

They bore her off to Ormandie, 

Her and her ladies fair. 
Sometime no meaner than a Queen 

She hved among them there. 

But evermore Prince Hartmut strove 

In vain to move her heart, 
Till said the wicked Queen, "Enough! 

Now let me do my part ! 

" Here have you served her like a Queen, 

But know you who she is ? 
King Hettel's daughter, Hilda's child, • 

Proudest of princesses. 

" And yet what is she but a thrall ? 

Now let her learn her place. 
To a servant-maid a Prince's love 

Will hardly seem disgrace ! " 



128 GUDRUJV, 

"Do with her what you will," he said, 

" But treat her kindly too, 
Already I half begin to wish 

'Twere a deed I could undo." 

So ill at ease he went away 

To war in another land, 
And then the Queen opprest Gudrun 

With a hard and heavy hand. 

She took away her ladies all. 

Save Hildeburg the fair. 
Two years they swept the chambers out, 

And dusted them with their hair ; 
Coarse were the scanty clothes they wore, 

And their feet were always bare. 

And oft Gerlinta tempted her, 

" If you will you may be a Queen." 



GUDRUN, 129 

But ever again she answered her, 

"I will be what I have been, 
A faithful love to my only love, 

And I trust to be his Queen." 

And oft and oft she taunted her, 

"Your Herwig must be dead, 
Or may be now some happier maid 

Has wedded or will wed : 
Else why has he never come for you ? " 

" He will come yet," she said, 

*' And I shall live to see him come 
Though I die that very day ! " 

" I would I had never seen your face ! " 
" Aye, so you then will say ! " 

A hateful woman was the Queen 
As she left the lovely maid. 



I30 



GUDRUN. 

And crueller yet she treated her, 
For she 'gan to be afraid. 

Summer and winter, well or ill, 
For a weary year and more. 

She made Gudrun and Hildeburg 
Wash clothes upon the shore : 

Yet none the less Gudrun was true 
To the love she loved before. 



GUDRUN. 131 



11. 

The wild March winds were blowing cold, 
The grass was flecked with snow, 

And yet these maidens in their shifts, 
With naked feet must go 

Once more to wash along the shore. 

So Queen Gerlinta said, 
For now perplexed with hate and fear 

She 'gan to wish them dead. 

Gudrun looked o'er the windy waves, 

Her look became a stare: 
What is it that she thinks she sees 

Among the white-caps there ! 

" Look up, look up, dear Hildeburg ! 
Look ! there again it rose, 



132 GUDRUN. 



O is't a boat or is't a fish 

That goes and comes and goes ? 

" Last night I dreamed the heroes all 
Took ship and sailed away, 

At last to take us home again. 
Oh if it should be they ! " 

" A boat, a boat ! I saw the flash 

Of oars, and there again, 
Look how it overrides the waves, 

'Tis rowed by mighty men." 

From height to hollow on it came, 
They watched it coming on. 

"Two knights they are, I see the gleam 
Of armour in the sun. 

" I know the fashion of their helms, 
I know their colours too ; 



GUDRUN. 133 

Queen Hilda's messengers they are, 
My dream is coming true." 

She stood a moment flushed with hope, 

Nearer the rowers came. 
Then suddenly from neck to brow 

Bright colour ran like flame ; 
" Half-clad, bare-footed, washing clothes — 

Nay, I should die of shame ! " 

She turned away with Hildeburg, 
The boat's prow touched the sand, 

Outsprang the younger knight and called 
Gaily with voice and hand : — 

" Nay, fly not, maidens, fear us not. 

Come back and give us speech. 
Or never hope to have again 

These garments on the beach." 



124 GUDRUN. 

Yet still they fled, more gently then 

They heard the other say : — 
" Nay, maidens, wait for courtesy 

And give us speech, we pray ; 
Here are we strangers in the land. 

And need your help to-day." 

Still stopped Gudrun. " Such courteous words," 

She said with sudden tears, 
" Except from you, dear Hildeburg, 

I have not heard for years." 

Still stopped the maid. The knights came up, 

Much wondered they to see 
Such loveliness, so meanly clad, 

Such graceful poverty. 

Loose in the wild March winds their hair. 
Golden and long, was blown ; 



GUDRUN. 13^ 

Soft through the thin wet clinghig gowns 
Their lovely bodies shone. 

Said the younger knight: "Whose clothes are 
these 

Ye wash upon the shore ? 
Such washer- women all my life 

I never saw before. 

*' So fair ye are, who wrongs you thus ? 

Rich must your master be. 
Whose is this land, and whose is this 

Fair city that I see ? 
'Twere a right good deed, I say, to take 

Such a town from such as he ! " 

"'Tis Hartmut's city, Ludwig's son, 

And there his captains are, 
With eighty hundred men-at arms, 

Ready and fit for war. 



136 GUDRUN. 

Said the other knight, "Thus always armed, 

Of whom are they afraid ? " 
" From Hegelingen foes they fear 

Whose wrath is long delayed," 

She said, and shivered with the cold. 

Said the elder, speaking low, 
"Why should it shame you, noble maids, 

To wear our mantles now ? " 

But with a blush Gudrun drew back, 

" Nay, ne'er shall it be told 
That ever I put men's garments on 

Though it were twice as cold." 

" So proud in all her misery," 

Said the elder knight aside, 
" Ne'er saw I maid so fair, save her 

Who should have been my bride." 



GUDRUN. 13 

Said the other, " Have you ever heard 

That once an army came 
With many captive maidens here ? 

Gudrun was one maid's name." 

*' Yes, such a host came here to land ; 

'Twas long ago," she said, 
"She whom you call Gudrun I saw 

Late labouring for her bread." 

"If anywhere on earth alive, 

Gudrun your sister, be, 
Now, Ortwein, this is she herself," 

Cried the elder, suddenly, 
" Ne'er saw I one so like to her, 

It is, it must be she !" 

She heard the name; "And you," she said, 
" Most strangely like are you. 



138 GUDRUKf. 

But for your beard, to a noble knight, 
Whom long ago I knew. 



" Herwig of Seeland. He is dead 
Or long ago he had come, 

With many heroes from afar 
To take those maidens home. 



" So like Gudrun do I seem to you ? 

Like Herwig you to me. 
But he is dead, and she is dead, 

Dead in captivity." 



Tears started from the hero's eyes, 
" She was my wife," he said. 

"Nay," cried Gudrun, "deceive me not. 
They told me he was dead." 



GUDRUN. i3g 

" Dead he is not as they shall find ; 

If Herwig e'er you knew 
In Hegelingen, look at this, 

This ring I had firom you, 

" For you are Gudrun, I am sure of it." 

She lifted up her hand, 
"And this, who gave this ring to her 

In a dear and distant land ? " 

"'Twas I," he said, and caught her hand 

And drew her to his breast. 
No word she spake, but in his arms 

Fluttered and lay at rest, 
Poor weary dove, by kite and crow 

Well nigh to death opprest. 



140 



GUDRUN. 



III. 
"And this is the work they made you do," 

Said Ortwein in a rage. 
"Who will have Queens for washer-maids 

Should pay a goodly wage ! " 

"And so they shall! But come, but come!" 

Said Herwig, " Let us go ! 
Our work is done — we must not be seen 

Till to-morrow by the foe. 

" Now let us get the maids aboard. 

And back to camp again." 
But, " Had I a hundred sisters more," 

Said Ortwein hotly then, 

"I'd liefer they all were dead at once 
Than take them now by sleight. 



GUDRUN. 141 



It shall not be said that I took by stealth 
What was ta'en from me in fight. 

" As they took them there I will take them here, 
In a storm of fight they were ta'en, 

In a storm of fight to-morrow morn 
I will have them back again ! " 

" Nay, you shall have your full of fight," 

Said Herwig, " and right soon. 
My fear is that they may suspect 

And take away Gudrun 

"And hide her somewhere overnight 

And so foil us after all." 
Said Ortwein, " But have you forgot 

That her ladies are in thrall ? 

" She shall come to you with her ladies all 
As befits your future Queen." 



142 GUDRUN. 

Gudrun said, " Let me go with you, 
Long has my waiting been." 

" Sister, except my mother dear 

No woman I love like you ; 
But bethink you now whose child you are, 

And I know what you will do." 
"You are right," she said, "I will wait you here^ 

And here will help you too. 

"They might suspect your coming on 

Should I go with you to-day, 
And you must take them unawares 

And be certain of your prey." 

Said Herwig, " Dear, to leave you thus 

To me is a bitter pain. 
But I trust I shall not fight the worse 

For having you yet to gain." 



GUDRUN. 143 

They rowed away among the waves, 

They soon were out of sight. 
" O Hildeburg ! " she wept and said, 

" If I should die to-night ! " 

She took the Queen's clothes in her arms, 

She flung them on the wave. 
"Two kings have kissed me. Nevermore 

Will I work like a slave ! '' 



i44 GUDRUN. 



IV. 

An angry woman was the Queen, 
And would have beat Gudrun, 

When empty-handed from the shore 
She came that afternoon. 



But craftily she answered her 
" First hear what I would say. 

For Herwig I have waited long, 
My waiting ends to-day. 



"Why should I be a wretched slave 
Who am a Princess born ? 

Let Hartmut take me for his wife 
If he will to-morrow morn." 



GUDRUN. 145 

Gerlinta sighed, as if a weight 

Were lifted from her heart. 
"Gudrun," she said, "remember this, 

That Hartmut took your part. 

For certainly he loved you much, 

Too much I used to say, 
And long ago you had been freed 

If he had had his way. 

" But since he chose to love you so, 

I swore you should be his. 
I would have killed you with my hands 

Rather than fail of this. 

" For I love but him, and I love him more 

Than ever he loved you, 
Than ever he loved vie perhaps, 

And so I dared to do. 



146 GUDJiUX. 

*'' For his sake, deeds to which himself 
Would first have said * For shame/ 

Remember this, Gudnm, 'tis I, 
I only, am to blame." 

She sent for Hartmut. Glad was he 
And would have kissed Gudrun, 

But, "I am but a servant yet," 
She answered him as soon, 

"And all unfit to be betrothed 

In such a sony- plight, 
But give me my rich robes again. 

And all my jewels bright, 

"And let me have my ladies all. 
All well attired once more. 

And give us food and baths and beds 
As rich as once before. 



GUDRUN^. 

" For, as I am a Princess bom, 

A Princess let me seem, 
Till then I hardly know myself^ 

All seems so like a dream." 

They gave her back her ladies all, 
With robes and jewels bright ; 

Like princesses in everything 
Thev treated them that ni^ht. 

To the sound of music they were ser\-ed 

With costly food and wine. 
Strange was the taste of it to them 

On a crust who used to dine. 

And when to sleep they would be gone 

The minstrels went before, 
And strange the rich beds felt to them 

^^'ho5e bed had been the floor. 



147 



148 GUDRUN. 

But when they all were left alone, 

And all was still again, 
Gudrun laughed out, who in that land 

Had never laughed till then. 

Gerlinta heard her in the hall, 

As she was passing by. 
And, as if touched by an icy hand. 

Shuddered, she knew not why. 



GUDRUN. 149 



High was the morning-star, when lo ! 

A fair maid looking down 
Saw gUstening hehns and gUstening shields 

Encircling all the town. 

Glad to Gudrun she brought the news 
" Our friends are close at hand, 

Look out and see them on the sea 
And see them on the land." 

She looked and saw the swaying ships. 

And saw the colours fly. 
And saw the glistening helms and shields. 

And yet she gave a sigh. 



I50 



GUDRUN. 

" It wrings my very heart," she said, 
"To see them there so gay, 

And think how many a noble knight 
Must die for me to-day." 

But now the watcher from the tower 

Aloud began to call, 
" Up, up and arm ! A host of men 

Surround us like a wall." 

In haste came Ludwig, but too dim 
His eyes were to discern ; 

But Hartmut knew their banners all, 
And named them all in turn. 

"From Hegelingen they are come, 

I know their flags of old : 
That in the midst is Hilda's flag, 
That shines all over gold. 



GUDRUN. II 

" And that is Ortwein's to the right, 
With crossed swords on the red ; 

And left is Herwig's mermaid flag ; 
And yonder human head 

"On brown silk broidered, Seyfrit owns; 

Irolt's is gold and green ; 
And that one on whose coal-black ground 

A flaming town is seen 

"Is grey old Wate's, the grimmest man 

That ever lived so long ; 
And that one with the silver harp 

Is Horant's, famed for song, 

"And famed for fighting none the less. 

Aye, and the hawk is there 
Of wily Frut; and yonder, too. 

Is Morung's ramping bear. 



152 



GUDRUN. 

" By Heaven ! no nobler banners fly 

Than flout us there this morn, 
But we will let them know that our's 

Is not a flag to scorn. 

*'Up then, and arm, and out at once! 

I will not have them say 
That, when they asked for their revenge, 

We skulked and hid away." 

So said he ; but with tearful face 

Gerlinta held him back. 
"Strong are the gates, and strong the walls, 

No victual do we lack, 

"And darts and missiles are at hand 

In every tower and roof. 
Bid shut the gates and man the walls. 

And keep the foe aloof, — 



GUDRUN. 153 

" So shall we wear them out at last 

And see them sail away. 
But as you love me, dear my son, 

Go not afield to-day. 

'' 111 dreams I dreamed of you all night. 

Promise me not to go ! " 
But angrily he answered her, 

" One thing full well I know, 

" I have had enough of your advice, 

Now I will take my own. 
I say I will fight the foe afield 

If I have to fight alone." 

" Come on ! " said Ludwig. Forth they wxnt 

With thirty hundred men. 
"The fools ! " said Wate, " they are coming out, 

They shall not go in again." 



1^4 GUDRUN. 



Once, twice and thrice he blew his horn, 

Right lustily he blew. 
With glancing arms and flags afloat 

The hosts together drew. 

Ortwein and Hartmut first engaged. 

Both lances crashed like one. 
And reeling backward either knight 

Was well-nigh overthrown. 

Down from their trembling horses then 
Bare sword in hand they sprang. 

Hot Ortwein first struck out and missed, 
Then felt a sudden pang 

As Hartmut pierced him in the side 

And called on him to yield. 
But Horant rushing in between 

Covered him with his shield 



GUDRUN. 155 



And on his own unguarded arm 
Caught Hartmut's second stroke, 

Which numbed him so he dropped his sword, 
And but that now his folk 

Ran in and dragged him from the fight, 

Enraged and out of breath 
All weaponless as there he stood 

He there had had his death. 

Meantime no better Herwig fared, 

'Gainst Ludwig riding fell. 
Hurled from his horse, and just in time 

Borne off insensible. 

But in the centre grim old Wate 

And Frut and Morung now 
Led on their men, and like a wind 

That makes the wheat-fields bow 



1^6 GUDRUN. 

So raged the Hegellngen men 

'Gainst those of Ormandie : 
They cut them down and rode them down 

And drove them furiously. 

They drove them backward to the wall 

And there, obliged to stand, 
Fierce was the fight to get control 

Of the gates on either hand. 

The west gate Ortwein took and held 
As fierce as Wate for shame ; 

Horant the east ; but in the midst 
The banners went and came. 

There Ludwig fought with Wate and Frut, 

Expecting Hartmut's aid 
To enter in and hold the town. 

With bolt and barricade. 



GUDRUN. 127 

But now recovered from his swoon, 

And desperately in wrath, 
Came Herwig, forcing friend and foe 

To open him a path, 

Till once more face to face he stood 

With Ludwig, sword in hand, 
And at the sight of him half laughed. 

And felt his heart expand. 

With hope to wipe away the shame 

Of his unlucky fall. 
And get him glory and Gudrun, 

Right there before them all. 

'Twas not an easy thing to do. 

Twice he was touched and bled. 
And when with one two-handed stroke 

'Gainst Ludwig's helm and head 



1^8 GUDRUN. 

He got a chance to bring his sword 

It broke off in his hand. 
But such a downright stroke it was 

It forced the King to stand 

Till Herwig got his battle-axe 

And swiftly coming on, 
'Twixt neck and shoulder-blade aslant, 

With a death-blow brought it down. 

So Ludwig died. And Hartmut now 
With his troop came on in vain. 

One charge he made and was driven back, 
And the middle gate was ta'en. 

But like a man who longs to die, 

Who yet would die a man. 
At grim old Wate, without a word, 

With lifted sword he ran, 



GUDRUN. , 

And dealt the old fighter such a blow 

Beneath the uplifted arm, 
As made him start aside, and pause 

From urging on the swarm 

Of Hegelingen men that now 
Thro' the gates began to throng. 

Right well the young man bore himself, 
But the fight could not be long. 

Sore hurt Wate brought him to his knees, 
And swift, with dagger drawn. 

Sprang at his throat. But now the Queen 
Who ever since the dawn 

Had watched the progress of the fight, 

And seen her foes prevail, 
Seen Ludwig perish, and the force 

Of all his army fail, 



59 



i6o GUDRUN. 

Bethought her, white with grief and rage, 

" But I will foil them yet. 
They may take the cage that held the bird 

But the bird they shall not get." 

She called a churl, "You know Gudrun. 

Be speedy and be bold : 
Go strike me off her head, and win 

A helmet full of gold." 

The wretch ran eager to the hall 
Where with her maids apart, 

Gudrun sat watchful of the fight, 
Both glad and sad at heart. 

By the window where she sat to watch 

He took her unaware. 
Loud screamed she like a peasant-maid 

As he seized her by the hair. 



GUDRUN. i6i 

Old Wate half shuddered, and struck wide, 

Amazed at such a cry. 
Said Hartmut, " 'Tis Gudrun that calls. 

As if about to die." 

Quick to his feet he sprang and looked. 

And called with all his breath, 
" 'Tis Hartmut says it, harm her not 

Or die a dreadful death ! " 

The coward knew his Prince's voice 

And quickly turned away. 
Old Wate growled out, "That lucky call 

Has saved your life to-day." 

Nought Hartmut answered, growing faint, 

And with an aching heart. 
But let himself be carried off 

To a leech's tent apart. 



1 62 GUDRUN. 

Meantime the Hegelingen. men 

Had all the city ta'en, 
Except the palace ; there the Queen 

Kept up a deadly rain, 

Of boiling pitch and stones and darts 
From many a tower and roof, 

Encouraging what men she had 
To keep the foe aloof 

A little longer from the doors 
They fain would batter down. 

There old Wate found them at a stand. 
And with a scornful frown. 

Shield over head and axe in hand 

Ran swift as any lad. 
And 'gan to thunder at the door. 

And soon such help he had 



GUDRUN. 163 

From many a well-swung battle-axe 

And many a well-put stone 
That spite of everything the doors 

Were quickly overthrown. 

That ended it. The topmost tower 

Soon Hilda's banner bore. 
Soon Herwig had his love again, 

To part from her no more. 

But sword in hand, unresting still, 
Old Wate went here and there. 

"Will no one tell me where she is, 
That Queen who loves to wear 

Clothes whitened by no meaner hands 

Than those of Princesses ? " 
A fair maid, winking with her eyes, 

Made signal " There she is." 



164 GUDRUiV. 

"Are you Gerlinta?" "I am she, 
And I know who you are too. 

Do what you will. 'Twill be no worse 
Than I would have done to you." 

He took her by the long gray hair, 
She neither shrank nor cried. 

A single blow was all he gave. 
And so Gerlinta died. 

So died Gerlinta. Much she loved, 
Much may she be forgiven. 

But if love alone can save from Hell, 
Few folk will fail of Heaven. 



A SONG FOR LEXINGTON 

'T^HE Spring came earlier on 

Than usual that year ; 
The shadiest snow was gone, 
The slowest brook was clear, 
And warming in the sun 
Shy flowers began to peer. 

'Twas more like middle May, 
The earth so seemed to thrive, 
That Nineteenth April day 
Of Seventeen Seventy-Five ; 
Winter was well away. 
New England was alive | 



1 66 A SONG FOR LEXINGTON. 

Alive and sternly glad! 

Her doubts were with the snow; 

Her courage, long forbade, 

Ran full to overflow ; 

And every hope she had 

Began to bud and grow. 

She rose betimes that mom 
For there was work to do ; 
A planting, not of corn. 
Of what she hardly knew, — 
Blessings for men unborn ; 
And well she did it too ! 

With open hand she stood, 
And sowed for all the years. 
And watered it with blood, 
And watered it with tears. 
The seed of quickening food 
For both the hemispheres. 



A SONG FOR LEXINGTON. 167 

This was the planting done 
That April morn of fame, 
Honour to every one 
To that seed-field that came ! 
Honour to Lexington, 
Our first immortal name ! 



WITH MEN AND WOMEN 



THE RETURN OF PARIS. 

T STUMBLED thrice, and twice I fell and lay 
■^ Moaning and faint, and yet I did not pray 
To any God or Goddess of them all; 
Because I never doubted, climb or crawl. 
That I should reach the fountain and the tall 
One old familiar pine-tree, where I lay 
Prone on my face, with outstretched hands, you 

say, 
Fallen once again — this time against the goal. 
And now, what shall I pray for ? since my whole 
Wish is accomplished, and I have your face 
Once more by mine in the remembered place, 
And the cool hand laid on my head aright, 
A little while before I die to-night. 



172 



THE RETURN OF PARIS. 



For surely I am dying : not a vein 
But has received the poison and the pain 
Of Philoctetes' arrow. — Oh ! I heard 
The hissins of the vengeance long deferred, 
And felt it smite me, and not smite me dead ; 
And all at once the very words you said 
Too long ago returned to me once more — 
IVhcft, as you shall be, you are wounded sore, 
Come back to me, and I will cure you then, 
Whom none but I can cure : and once again, 
Sweet ! I am with you, and am cured by you. 
And by you only; and yet it is true 
That I must die, CEnone. So it is. 
And better that it is so ! Hark to this. 
How good it were, if we could live once mor6 
The old sweet life we found so sweet before — 
Here in the mountain where we were so glad, 
Ere I was cruel and ere you were sad I 
How good it were could we begin again 
The old sweet life just where we left it then ! 



THE RETURN OF PARIS. 173 

A song, love ; — but my singing voice is gone — 

The one song that I made, the only one 

After I left you to be mad so long ; 

(A marvellous thing to have made no other song !) 

The only one — which, many months ago, 

Came to me strangely with a soft and slow 

Movement of music, which at first was sad, 

But sad and sweet, and after only sad. 

And then most bitter, as its death gave birth 

To a low laughter of uneasy mirth — 

Made of blent noises that the night-winds bore, 

The lapse of waves upon the dusky shore, 

The creaking of the tackle, and the stir 

Of threatening banners where the camp-fires were 

About the armies, that no such a charm 

As a regretful love-song could disarm. 

And bring to life the heroes that were slain, 

And make the war as if it were a vain 

Noise in the night that at the morn is not. 

And all the Past a dream that it besrot. 



T74 THE RETURN OF PARIS. 

The wind was right to laugh my song away ! 

And then I thought — if only for a day 
I might be with her, only for so long 
As to be pardoned or (forgive the wrong) 
Cursed by her there, and so get leave to die ! 
And here we are, CEnone, you and I ! 
Yes, we are here ! why ever otherwhere ? 

Ah ! why indeed ? And yet, love, let me dare 

Uncover my whole heart to you once more ; 

I think I never was so blest before — 

Never so happy as I am to-day. 

Not even, indeed, when in the early May 

We found each other, and were quite too glad 

To know the value of the love we had. 

But now I seem to know it in my need, 

Inhaling the full sweetness of it — freed 

Now, for the first time, from its perfect flower ; 

Ah ! quite too sweet to overlast its hour ! 



THE RETURN OF PARIS, 175 

What more now shall I pray for? To be let 
Live and not die ? Ah ! if we could forget 
All but the Present and outlaw the Past ! 
And yet I know not — could the Present last 
If quite cut off from all that gave it birth, 
And not be changed, if changed to alien earth, 
Into a Future that we know not of? 
We will not ask : we have attained to I.ove — 
AVhatever grown from — which not all the years 
Past or to come, nor memories nor fears. 
Can rob us of forever, nor make less. 
No praying then — but only thankfulness ! 

No sound floats hither from the smoky plain : 
Turn me a Httle — never mind the pain — 
I see it now. And that was Ilion then ! 
The accursed city in the mouths of men. 
Whose mouths are swift to interweave its name 
With mine forever for a word of shame. 
I never loved it, and it loved me not — 



176 THE RETURN OF PARIS. 

The fatal firebrand that itself begot 

And tried to quench and could not — there it 

smokes ! 
And there the shed blood of its people soaks 
Into the soil that they loved more than life. 

Let the Gods answer, who decreed the strife ! 
But you, great-hearted, whom indeed I loved — 
Brother and friend, by whom, if unapproved, 
I was loved sometime in the upper air — 
Will you turn from me when I meet you there 
And greet you. Hector, in the other world? 
Will you turn from me, with lip coldly curled, 
And frank eyes hardened? — 

I accept the sign \ 
I.o you ! CEnone, where the gloomy line 
Of the slow clouds is broken, and a bright 
Gleam, like a smile, steals softly into sight 
And grows to a glory in the increasing sky ! 



THE RETURN OF PARIS. 177 

Nay, you are right, love 1 What have you and I 
To do with Past or Future, who have for boon 
So rich a Present, to exhaust so soon 
Between the da}light and the afterglow ? 
The last cloud passes, and how calm I grow ! 
And now — if I should close my eyes, my love. 
And seem to sleep a little, and not move 
Until the sky has got its perfect gold, 
You will not think me dying while I hold 
Your hand thus closely? Kiss me now. Again ! 
Past chance of change — just where we left it 
then. 

CENONE. 

I had him last ! I had him first and last ! 
His morning beauty and his evening charm ! 
Oh, Love! triumphant over all the Past, 
What Death can daunt you, or what Future 
harm ? 



SONG. 

A N under-cioud that half reveals, 
Half hides a splendid star ; 
(Even then more clear than others are, 

As always qiieenlicr.) 
Such was my love to her. 

A wilting wind that bends a rose 

Not very long nor far; 
(Even then more fresh than others arc, 

As always lovelier.) 
Such was my love to her. 

O star of stars, as clear and high ! 

O rose of roses, none the less ! 
The cloud is blown out of the sky, 

The wind is in the wilderness. 



I 



KING ^GEUS. 

(A Fragment.) 

T was a day of light ; the gracious sun 
Filled full of light the insatiate Autumn air, 
And streamed in splendour on the exulting sea, 
Till the low waves, blent by the rippling breeze, 
Near by showed blinding silver — but beyond, 
The laughter of innumerable eyes 
That winked in an embarrassment of joy. 
Above, the undazzled sky was calm, was blue, 
With here and there a lonely dimpled cloud. 
White as the flying sea-foam whence it sprang— 
Slow wandering noiseless on its dreamy way. 
Half heedless of the embracing wind's desire ; 



i8o KING yEGEUS. 

And on the land the sun smiled joyous])^, 

The green fields took a brighter green, the 

grain 
Rose panting broadly to the genial light, 
And bending low, returned the golden smile ; 
All things were overfull of happy life, 
And all the mingled noises in the air 
Seemed vainly murmuring of the joy of earth : 
Alone amid them all, the sad old king 
Sat listening, and heard nothing but a sound 
Of quivering silence in his empty ears — 
Sat looking, and saw nothing but a want 
Of anything to see in all the world. 
Unfilled as yet by any little sail. 



IN CORINTH. 

T ET me review it all before I sleep ; 

I am still too happy to be quiet yet, 
And grudge to give one morsel of my joy, 
Unrelished fully, to distorting dreams, 
Or mere oblivion : let me taste it all 
Slowly and thankfully from end to end. 
And then the Igst before the final sleep 
From which I wake to wait for her in heaven 
It must be so, I feel that it is so. 

Before I ever held her by the hand. 
Before I ever called her by her name, 
Before I ever looked her in the face 
I knew and loved her, as I knew and loved 



1 82 I^ CORINTH. 

All things whose loveliness makes men despair — 

Despair and love, and never quite despair. 

And when I met her first, a year ago. 

And heard her voice and saw her mouth and eyes. 

This is the love that I foresaw, I said. 

And thrilled with joy to see her here at last ; 

Here and not here — for, when I looked again, 

I saw the place she stood on, far aloof 

From all of me except my merest dreams, 

And scorned my littleness, and turned away 

And let despair instruct me how to love. 

But no despair could teach me to forget, 

Nor utterly compel me to its will, 

While yet my heart was tender to the touch 

Of influences from the day and night, 

The sunlight and the starlight, grass and trees. 

And clouds and skies and waters, for the charm 

With which all these allured me and repelled. 



IN CORINTH. 183 

And saddened me, and quickened and consoled, 
Still led me in a circle back to her 
To whom all other loveliness referred. 

I saw her very seldom in my life — • 

Too very seldom, as I used to say ; 

It irked me bitterly to waste the days 

So far from Corinth and the sight of her. 

And does it irk me now to think of this ? 

And shall I, as I used, accuse the Past, 

And count it lost because not spent with her ? 

If I had seen her often er, perhaps 

It might have been far otherwise ; but now, 

How is it now ? Is it not perfect now ? 

I would not have it otherwise. 

And yet, 
Glad as I am, yes, quite content and glad — 
Perhaps, indeed, because I am so glad — 



1 84 I^^ CORINTH. 

I cannot yet, quite yet, forget to dream 

Of all that might have been. I wish I knew 

More of that Heaven she spoke of. But 

enough — 
It is enough ; I will not lose in dreams 
The recollection of what was and is. 
It is enough for me to live to-night ; 
To-day is mine and yesterday is mine, 
To-morrow shall ask questions of itself 

Day before yesterday I said, 'Tis now 

A month since I have seen or heard of her ; 

To-morrow is the birth-day of my love : 

A year ago to-morrow I first saw 

And loved the only woman in the world. 

She surely cannot love me ; but the days 

Fall from my life like withered leaves, and soon 

What freshness will be left of all my youth ? 

I will go tell her all, and ask her leave 

At least to be permitted to outwear 



IN CORINTH. 185 



• 



My life in some impossible attempt 
To overcome the gulf and climb the height 
That separates me from her ; or at least, 
I will go see her and not say a word, 
See h-er once more and go away content, 
And never vex her after. That is best — 
See her once more and afterward no more. 
And so it was ; I saw her just once more, 
And proved my love instead of speaking it. 

She is quite safe, I know, and out of reach — 
Quite out of reach of that accursed — God ! 
That I could kill him ! She is surely safe. 
But it is dreadful to remember now 
How slight an error might have thwarted all. 
But I was certain that I should succeed — 
I never doubted once. 

When I first heard 
That she was brought before that beastly Judge 



1 86 IN CORINTH. 

For blasphemy against his foohsh gods, 
I knew what I was bora for. When they said, 
'"Tis as pretext, this charge of blasphemy, 
'Tis not the first time he has played this game " 
(I hate myself that it is not the last), 
"He only wants to force her to his will" — 
Not even then I doubted, tho' the words 
Made my knees shake. I did not doubt at all. 
But waited. 

In the afternoon I learned 
(Whether made blind by rage or keen by craft, 
What matters it? I thwarted him at both), 
That since she neither would deny her God 
Nor take such pardon as he offered her, 
That he had done a thing impossible — 
Had sent her to a brothel with command 
That any man who might be base enough — 
I hardly can believe it even now ! 



IN CORINTH. 187 

I bargained for and bought her widi a price. 

That was a strange and bitter thing to do : 

For every coin I could have better borne 

To give a piece of my indignant heart. 

It needed all the love I had for her 

To save me from the frenzy of remorse, 

And shame and pain which would have ruined 

all. 
This too becomes a thing incredible — 
A tale, a dream — I will not diink of it. 

But all the rest of it is sweet and good. 
All was arranged, the friends and horses sure, 
The dusk excluded and the stars aloft, 
When I gave over watching and went in 
And found her — on the birth-day of my love, 
I thought of that — and as she raised her eyes, 
Not shamefully but grandly, all the place 
Seemed changed and sacred — a good place to be : 



t88 in CORINTH. 

Not, as I Galled it while I watched outside, 
A dung-hill darkened by a spotless rose, 
Black mire made blacker by a speckless pearl, 
Night's gloom made gloomier by a single star, 
But night was morn, white marble was the mire. 
And the dung-hill a garden having her. 

She knew me in a moment, took my hand 
And said, I thought — I knew that you would 

come. 
What must we do?" I told her all the plan. 
"You must disguise yourself with mask and cloak 
To look like me ; and when the street is clear. 
Go boldly forth, and turning to the right. 
Meet and be safe with one who says my name." 
" And you ? " — " I wait a while and watch my chance 
To join you afterward." She smiled a strange, 
Unnamable, sweet, melancholy smile, 
And seemed to muse a moment, and then said, 



/// CORINTH. 189 

"Yes, you are right !" and then, "You too behe-ve, 
As 1 do, that we meet our friends in Heaven, 
And know each other after death, my friend ? 
Stoop down a Httle. I kiss you now and here. 
And make you an appointment." 

So she said. 

But here they say, that I must fight the beasts 
To-morrow. To-morrow ! I beat them yesterday. 



MEDUSA. 

/^~\ NE calm and cloudless winter night, 

Under a moonless sky — 
AVhence I had seen the gracious light 
Of sunset fade and die, — 

I stood alone a little space, 

Where tree nor building bars 
Its outlook, in a desert place, 

The best to see the stars. 

No sound was in the frosty air, 

No light below the skies ; 
I looked above, and unaware 

Looked in Medusa's eyes ; — 



MEDUSA. 191 

The eyes that neither laugh nor weep, 

That neither hope nor fear, 
That neither watch nor dream nor sleep, 

Nor sympathize nor sneer. 

The eyes that nor reject nor choose, 

Nor question nor reply. 
That neither pardon nor accuse. 

That yield not nor defy ; 

The eyes that hide not nor reveal, 

That trust not nor betray ; 
That acquiesce not nor appeal — 

The eyes that never pray. 

O love that will not be forgot ! 

O love that leaves alone ! 
O love that blinds and blesses not ! 

O love that turns to stone ! 



A WINTER EVENING. 

Expecting him, her fancy talks 

(By like and unlike set astir) 
0/ofte of her last summer walks 

To where he sat expecting her. 

T T 7 E had no sunset here to-day, 

Nor are there any stars to-night ; 
But all above was pearly gray 

And all beneath was silver white ; 
And still the snow-flakes fall and fall 

In silence, for the weary breeze 
Is sleeping, and no noise at all 

Is in the bushes or the trees. 
On which the snow lies like white moss, 

Too light to bend them ; but the grass 
Must be quite hidden all across 



A WINTER EVENING. 



T93 



The meadow through which he will pass 
Unheard, unseen, till he is near 

The lilac sparkling in the glow 
Of this my little lamp, placed here 

To call him to me through the snow. 

'Tis not so very cold without ; 

But here within 'tis light and warm, 
The hot wood murmurs, wrapped about 

By lithe long flames of fickle form ; 
And swiftly running on, to make 

Its lurking cuckoo leap and laugh, 
The clock's incessant chatterings wake 

An answering echo in behalf 
Of sweeter noises than its own : 

Till, hearing them, I seem to see 
Once more the meadows overgrown 

With waving grass, and every tree 
With bright green leaves well woven close 
• To take the sunlight, and the wind 



194 



A WINTER EVENING. 

Almost to take, that comes and goes 

And never quite makes up its mind. 
And in the meadows near and far, 

With daisies and snapdragon dight, 
Unanswerable crickets are 

Forever singing out of sight ; 
And little flickering brooks that flow 

To their own music ever, make 
For me a music that I know — 

How well indeed, who used to take 
The path so often close beside 

The brightest of them, singing past 
Well-watered grass on either side, 

Till, o'er the little bridge at last, 
Good-by to brook and path, but not 

Till, spite of all the surly bees 
That grudge the treasure, I have got 

As many ear-drops as I please : 
And then the meadow ('twas a sin 

To flout the quiet daisies so), 



A WINTER EVENING. , - 



With scared grasshoppers out and in 

The grasses leaping as I go ; 
Along the moss-grown shaky wall, 

Across the close-nipped pasture -ground 
Where only mulleins dare grow tall, 

And blackberry vines creep close around 
The gray-green mossy rocks that sleep 

Luxurious in the flattering light 
Of sunshine all day long, and keep 

Warm sides to feel of in the night ; 
Past patient cows that mildly gaze 

Upon me as I pass them by, 
And stop to fix a lock that strays, 

And startle at a far-off cry ; — 
And then a turn, and there is naught 

Between me and the place I know 
But vines and bushes interwrought 

To make a screening tangle go 
About a green and golden glade, 

Where 'neath the appointed chestnut tree 



96 A WINTER EVENING. 

And quaintly dappled by its shade, 

Who is it I have come to see ? 
And yet, forsooth, the eager eyes 

Must cloud a little and go astray 
A moment with the thoughts that rise 

Of many things, and will have way, 
Before I dare to draw the screen 

Of interwoven leaves apart 
A little way, and peer between. 

And see him, with as full a heart — 

As now I have to see him there, 
Behind my lilac in the snow 

Peering at me, and with an air 
As if a woman would not know ! 



SHADOWS. 

T T OW good it is to see once more 

Green grasses turning gray before 
The wilful blowing of the breeze ; 
And here and there from clouds and trees, 
Over the moving meadow, slow 
The changing shadows glide and go ! 

How good it is ! but as before, 
No summer breezes any more 
Shall blow about her wayward hair ; 
Nor any summer meadows wear 
Her passing shadow, passed away 
With half the brightness of the day. 



A CHANGE. 

T T E said, " Dew wets 
No dearer flowers 
Than violets : 

Thro' long Spring hours 
The wandering bees 
Prove all, and meet 
No flowers so sweet." 

I planted these, 

Whose perfumed bloom, 
I thought would please ; 

And he, for whom 
I bade them grow, — 
Loves roses now ! 



A CHANGE. 199 

God pity me ! 
I cannot see 

The end of pain. 
The flowers I know 

Bloom not in vain. 
Since Thou wilt care 
To find them fair : 
But Thou art — where ? 

Faith falters so 
When Love grows dim, 
And 'twas for him 

r bade them grow ! 



THE NEW NARCISSUS. 

/^~^ IVEN up for all the unprofitable day, 

O'er the ship's side that moves not in her 
place, 
To lean and look and languidly to trace 
On the slow glass of the receding bay 
The troubled image of a troubled face ; 
Or, with vague longing up and down to pace 
The narrow deck, and of the far-away 
Swift ships that glisten with momentary spray 
Ask what avails a little larger space 
Of insufficient ocean, — this is he 
Whose stranded Hfe, too carefiil to be free, 
No dreams deliver, and all thoughts betray 
To hate the calm that holds him in delay. 
To doubt the wind that calls him to the sea. 



PILGRIMAGE. 

I. 

Has the bitterness found you ? 

Ah ! foolish to deem, 
Wliile the hills yet surround you 
And hold you and bound you, 

That this was your dream. 

2. 

From the fields that lie yonder 

It gleamed all aglow 
With fresh beauty and wonder, 
Which seem passing under 

Strange darknesses now : 



PILGRIMAGE. 

3- 

For you linger, mistaking 
The place where you stand 

For the glory, that breaking 

All o'er it, was making 
It worth your demand ; 

4- 
Not the place, whose use ended 

As soon as 'twas won, 
Allured, but the splendid 
Glad light that ascended 

Inviting you on. 

5. 
On then ! with the Spirit 

Most restless in rest 
That guides who revere it, 
And tortures who fear it 

And hold it supprest ; 



PILGRIMAGE. 

6. 

Unsatisfied ever 

But cheerful to strive, 
Too wise to dissever 
Joy from the endeavour 

That keeps it alive ; 

7. 
Still seeking and learning 

And seeking anew, 
Still winning and spurning, 
Upborne by the yearning 

That bids it pursue ; 

8. 

What place shall restrain it 

From always to range ? 
It strives but to gain it, 
Outgrow and disdain it. 



Most constant to change. 



203 



204 



PILGRIMAGE. 

9- 

Withhold it from ranging, 
And what do you win ? 
Your own soul estranging, 
And outer strife changing 
For discord within ! 

lo. 

And who can restore you 
The light you have lost, 

While the shadows lie o'er you 

Of hills yet before you 
That wait to be crost ? 

II. 

From the shadows that harm you, 

Climb, loving the light 
Which still shines to charm you 
And gladden and warm you 

And guide you aright ; 



PILGRIMAGE. 
12. 

Only past hopes are hollow ; 

The real remain, 
And swift-winged as the swallow 
Still call you to follow 

With longing again — - 

13- 
Each something supplyin-:;, 

Lest any despond, 
Each something denying, 
And all testifying 

To something beyond 



205 



HER NAME. 

T THINK her true name must be Marguerite, 

So bright she is and so serenely sweet, 
This girl I never spoke to ; and have seen 
Twice, and twice only; once as o'er the green 
She walked to church, and once just now as she 
Met and passed by, and never thought of me, 
Who smiled to think how all the dusty street 
Seemed like fresh fields, and murmured Mar- 
guerite ! 



GREENHOUSE FLOWERS. 

( Thanksgiving Day, 1867. ) 

J 'T^IS too late to find her flowers 

Such as I should rather give- 
Such as sad and sunlit liours 
Equally have taught to live. 

How can these, that never guessed 
How the evil helps the good — 

How can these to her suggest 

Aught of what I wish they could ? 

How can these that never felt 

Doubt and fear and hope deferred, 

Ere the snows began to melt, 
Ere the frozen earth was stirred ; 



2o8 GREENHOUSE FLOWERS. 

How can these that never thrilled 
In the midst of their distress, 

With the hope of hope fulfilled — 
How can these my thought express ? 

Yet, because perhaps they may 
Please her once or twice to see, 

Let them go and have their day, 
Happier than they ought to be ! 



T 



' IN NUBIBUS. 



{October, 1869.) 

HIS is a dream I had of her 
When in the middle seas we were. 



SunHght possessed the clouds again, 
Well emptied of unfruitful rain, 
When, leaning o'er the vessel's side, 
I watched the bubbles rise and glide 
And break and pass away beneath ; 
And heard the creamy waters seethe, 
As when an undecided breeze 
Plays in the branches of the trees 
Just ere the leaves begin to fall ; 
And as I listened, slowly all 
The elm-tree branches on the Green 
Rose up before me ; and between 
The stately trees on either side 
I saw the pathway, smooth and wide. 
In which I once had walked with her ; 



210 



IN NUB IB US. 

And in it men and women were, 
Who came and went no otherwise 
Than vague cloud-shadows to my eyes, 
And whispering bubbles to my ear, 
Who neither cared to see nor hear, 
And straight forgot them every one. 

But when the last of them was gone, 
And now from end to end the walk 
Was empty of them and their talk, 
A listening, longing silence fell 
Upon the elm-trees like a spell 
Of expectation and desire, 
And quick I saw the impulsive fire 
Of sunset overtlush the white 
And waiting clouds with rosy light ; 
And then a breeze ran all along 
The pathway, as if from a song- 
Imparting freshness as it ran, 
Till all the autumn leaves began 



IN NUBJBUS. 211 

Mid-SLimmer murmurs in the air, 
And suddenly I saw her there — 
And felt my heart leap up, and then 
As suddenly shrink back again 
To see that she was not alone ; 
But with her walking there was one 
Whose face turned sidewise, as it were 
The better so to hark to her, 
Showed not enough to let me know 
What man it was I envied -so : 
And yet I could not go away, 
But fascinated still to stay. 
And wait till they should pass me by, 
I stood and watched them cloudily. 
And saw them coming near and near. 
And nearer yet, till I could hear 
Her voice and recognize his face; 
And, save that a transmitted grace 
Made it not easy to be known. 
So went the dream — it was my own. 



AUTUMN SONG. 

'\T /"HAT have rustling leaves to say, 

Fit to make us sad or glad? 
Ere the wind ble7v us away, 
Much delight in life ive had. 

Now we both of us are sad, 

Both of us would death defer — 

You, because you are not glad, 
We, because we always were. 

This is what the brown leaves say, 
With a sadness less than mine : 

Dear, if I should die to-day, 
Give me something to resign. 



SPRING SONG. 

TT THILE I linger in her room, 

Singing idly at her feet, 
Si douce est la Marguerite, 
Are the clover blossoms sweet? 
Are the apple-trees in bloom. 
While I linger in her room? 

Is there murmuring of bees 
While I murmur at her feet, 
Si douce est la Marguerite I 
Is there singing swift and sweet 
By the brook-side, in the trees? 
Is there murmuring of bees ? 



214 SPIKING SONG. 

In the springtime of the year, 
Sitting singing at her feet, 
Si douce est la Marguerite^ 
Is there then no other sweet 
Thing to see or have or hear 
In the springtime of the year ? 



THE MORAL. 

^ I ^HE play is ended? Be it so! 

What use to criticise ? 
And yet, perhaps 'twere well to know 
What moral underlies. 

For, as I read it, it is such 

As both may ponder o'er ; 
Had I not loved you quite so much, 

You might have loved me more. 



THE END. 

HE sweetest songs are those 
That few men ever hear 
And no men ever sing ; 



T 



The clearest skies are those 

That furthest off appear 
To birds of strongest wing ; 

The dearest loves are those 

That no man can come near 
With his best following. 



WITH NATURE 



VITA VITALIS. 
I. 

TT THEN first the Spring grasses 

Take motion, and glisten 
In sun-litten masses, 
Wherethrough the brook passes 

And shimmers and sings ; 
When first the birds woo me 

To linger and listen. 
And watch them upspringing 

On wonderful wings ; 
When breezes are bringing 
Sweet scents to renew me, 
Sweet sounds thrilling through me, 

From apple blooms over 

The blossoming clover, 
Where bees murmur, clinging 



220 V^TA VI TALIS. 

With passionate pleasure, 
And butterflies wander 

In silence, at leisure, 
Like spirits that ponder 



Inscrutable things ;- 



Then always and ever, 
Despite , my endeavour 

To 'scape its control, 
Some inflowing sadness 
Discolours the gladness 

That freshens my soul ; 
Some answerless question, 
Some subtile suggestion. 

Some shyly returning 
Unsought recollection ; 
Some eager projection 

Of vague undiscerning, 

But passionate yearning ; 
A hoping, regretting, 



VITA VITA LIS. 221 



Remembering, forgetting ; 
A groping, a reaching, 
Demanding, beseeching ; 
A strangeness, a dearness, 
A distance, a nearness ; 
Perplexes, excites me. 
Repels me, invites me 
And fills me with fear : 



With fear of foregoing 



My life without knowing 
The life that without me. 
Above me, about me, 
Is ceaselessly flowing 

So near me, so near ! — 
So near, and yet ever 
Beyond my endeavour 
To woo it and win it, 
To have it and be it, 
To lose myself in it. 



■22 VITA VI TALIS. 

I only can see it, . 
And feel it and hear it, 
And love it and fear it, 

So willing to bless me, 

So stern to repress me. 
What is it — what is it 
■ Which makes me to miss it, 
And only to miss it ? 

What charm to be spoken ? 

What spell to be broken, 
Before I regain it 
Once more, or attain it 
At last, and inherit 

And hold as securely 
As any of these. 
The life that my spirit 

Remembers obscurely. 
Obscurely foresees? 



VITA VITALIS. 

11. 

Winged spirits, that wander 
In silence and ponder 

Inscrutable things, 
Ah ! why do ye shun me ? 
Float over, light on me, 
O touch me and thrill me. 
With watchfulness fill me 1 
Nay ! fan me and still me, 

Ye wonderful wings. 
To slumber, if only, 
Me sleeping, my lonely 
Shy spirit, who knew you 
Once haply, can woo you 
To take her unto you 
Once more where ye wander 
In silence and ponder 



Inscrutable things! 



223 



A DAY 



I. 



Tyl T^HERE but few feet ever stray. 

Far beyond the path's advances, 
AH alone an idler lay 
Half a breezy summer day 

Underneath a chestnut's branches; 



2. 

Not a stranger to the place, 

For the daisies nodded to him, 
And the grass in lines of grace 
Bending over, touched his face 

With light kisses thrilling through him. 



A DAY. 225 

3- 

Close beside his harmless hand 

Swinging bees would suck the clover, 

And a moment to be scanned 

Sunht butterflies expand 

Easy wings to bear them over. 

4. 

All about him, full of glee, 

Careless cricket-songs were ringing, 
And the wild birds in the tree 
Settled down where he could see 

While he heard them gayly singing. 

5. 
Overhead he saw the trees 

Nod and beckon to each other, 
And, too glad to be at ease, 
Saw the green leaves in the breeze 

Tingle touching one another ; 



226 A DAY. 

6. 

Saw the little lonely rill 

In a line of greener growing, 
Slipping downward from the hill, 
Curving here and there at will, 

Through the tangled grasses going ; 

7. 

Saw the play about his feet 

Of the flickering light and shadow; 
Saw the sunlight go to meet 
Glancing corn and waving wheat ; 
Saw the mowers in the meadow ; 



Saw the waves leap up and play 

On the palpitating river, 
Flowing out to find the bay, 
And the \^'hite ships far away 
Sailing on and on forever ; 



A DAY. 227 



9- 

Saw the hills upon whose side 

Slow cloud-shadows love to dally ; 

Saw the high hills, with the pride 

Of dark forests belted wide, 
Over many a misty valley ; 

10. 

Saw far-off the thin and steep 

Cloudy mountain-lands of wonder. 

Where unseen the torrents leap 

Over rifted rocks that keep 

Echoing memories of the thunder ; 

II. 

Saw the self-supporting sky 

Ever more and more receding ; 
Loth to linger, loth to fly. 
Saw the clouds go floating by, 

Stranger shapes to strange succeeding 



228 A DAY. 

12. 

Saw and mused and went away, 

Whether light or heavy hearted, 
It were hard for him to say, 
For a something came that day 
And a something had departed ; 

13- 

And his soul was overfraught 
With a passion e'er returning ; 

With the pain that comes unsought 

Of unutterable thought. 

And the restlessness of yearning. 



IN MAY. 

(1870.) 

iy T OW that the green hill-side has quite 

Forgot that it was ever white, 
With quivering grasses clothed upon ; 
And dandelions invite the sun ; 
And columbines have found a way 
To overcome the hard and gray 
Old rocks that also feel the Spring; 
And birds make love and swing and sing 
On boughs which were so bare of late ; 
And bees become importunate ; 
And butterflies are quite at ease 
Upon the well-contented breeze. 
Which only is enough to make 
A shadowy laughter on the lake ; 



230 IN MA V. 

And all the clouds, that here and there 
Are floating, melting in the air, 
Are such as beautify the blue ; — 
Now what is worthier, May, than you 
Of all my praise, of all my love, 
Except whom you remind me of? 



T 



MOONLIGHT IN MAY. 

{May 18, 1867.) 

HANKS! for I understand you, happy 



Night ! 

And smile with you at all that made me sad, 
Drawn unawares beyond all griefs I had 
Into the truthfulness of clear moonlight, 
Before whose frankness I can banish quite 
The old forlorn endeavour to be glad, 
And carelessly stand listening as I please 
To the low rustle on the sparkling shore 
Of conscious waves, that, ripplingly at ease, 
Outrun the light and lead it on before ; 
Or to the murmur of the moonlit trees, 
Whom time of waiting and reserve is o'er. 
Whom Spring has taught to captivate the breezf^, 
And charm the nights made musical once n:ore. 



I 



IN THE MEADOW. 

(1867.) 

DLl^'j and all in love with idleness; 



Caught in the net-work that my oak-tree 

weaves 
Of light and shadow with his thrilling leaves, 
And charmed to hear hi's murmured songs no 

less, 
On the shorn grass I lie, and let the excess 
Of summer life seem only summer play ; 
Even to the farmers working far away. 
Where one man lifts and strenuously heaves 
A bristly haycock up to him who stands 
Unsteadily upon the swaying load, 
Which, while the shuffling oxen slowly pass. 
Touched into wakefulness by voice and goad. 
He shapes and smooths, and turning in his 

hands, 
The long fork glistens like a rod of glass. 



BY THE LAKE. 

^EE how the restless melancholy lake 
Gives all itself, too vainly evermore, 

Up to the blankness of the barren shore 
Which cannot answer it again, nor take 
Warmth to its loveless life from lips that ache 

With kissing and beseeching o'er and o'er. 

O bitterness of hfe, not known before ! 
Who shall dehver it from loves that make 

No answer to its yearning, strangely strong 
To shut it in and waste its noblest powers? 

Making a moan of what was meant for song, 
And for its hope of growing grass and flowers, 

Condemning it to see its best endeavour 

End in slow foam on fruitless sands forever. 



BY THE BAY. 

(January 9, 1867.) 

f~^ N the smooth shore I stand alone and see 
A wonder in the distance : there the bay, 
Drawn on to meet and mingle far away 
With the broad sky's unstained serenity, 
Pauses at last from panting restlessly ; 
Smooths his short waves, and scorning to delay. 
Falls from the rounded world with all his weight 
In silence through the silences below ; 
Where nothing balks the aimless overflow, 
Till all the solid waters separate. 
Split into streams, that bursting as they go 
Fly off in rain, that ends in scattered spray 
And mist that rises for the winds to blow 
Hither and thither in unending play. 



THE MIST. 

T SAW along the lifeless sea 

A mist come creeping stealthily, 
Without a noise and slow, 
A crouching mist come crawling low 
Along the lifeless sea. 

None marked that creeping, crawling mist 

That crawled along the sea, 

That crept and crawled so stealthily 

And was so weak and white ; 

The moon was shining clear, I wist, 

Above it in the night. 



236 THE MIST. 

I saw it creeping, crawling low, 
Slow crawling from the sea, 
I saw it creep and crawl and grow 
Till all the stifled earth below 
Was shrouded silently : 

I saw it creep and crawl and grow, 
A forceless, formless thing. 
Determined, tireless, ceaseless, slow^ 
Silent and silencing ; 
I saw it creep and crawl and rise 
And crawl into the skies ; 

The stars began to faint and fail, 

That were so pure and clear ; 

The moon took on a loathsome look 

Of likeness to her fear — 

That closer crawled and clung to her 

And clung more near and near. 



THE MIST. 237 

The smothered moon went out and left 

Not even the mist to see, 

Mere blankness, and a sickening sense 

Of something worse to be ; 

And certainly in midst of it 

An awful thing I wist, 

It was to know that all the world 

Was nothing but a mist, 

But a creeping, crawling mist. 



RARA AVIS. 

QTANDING in shade, beside a path that lay 

Full in the sunlight of the afternoon, 
A gush of song from some bird far away 
I heard arise and sink again as soon ; 

And still I listened, but no more I heard, 
And all I saw was on the sunny ground 
The flying shadow of an unseen bird, 
No sooner come, than gone without a sound 

And so a song that I have never heard 
Surpasses all that I shall ever hear. 
And by the shadow of a vanished bird 
The rest are darkened and not very dear. 



THE KATYDID. 

TT THO knows of what the katydid 

Sings every night where he is hid 
In secret grasses or in trees 
That have so many mysteries ? 
But under faint far stars, that peer 
Through fainter clouds, I stand and hear 
Him singing, and know not indeed 
If any other song I need ; 
If any other song there be 
So full of thrilling things to me ; 
Deluding me with old delights 
That wake and make less happy nights 
Not wholly barren for their sakes ; 
And old and new desires it wakes 



2 40 THE KATYDID. 

For sweeter things than are; and all 

That ever was or is or shall 

Be made for longing or regret 

It mingles and makes lovelier yet ; 

Till now if over or below 

He sing or cease 1 hardly know ! 



A VINE. 

T3 OOTED and sure to grow 
Serenely in poor places, 

It lets its freshness flow 

O'er barren rocks, and graces 

Their blankness till they show, 

With green and crimson glow, 
As if themselves did make 
The beauty that they take. 

This is the true man's way; 

To let no kind of chances 
Warp him or turn astray ; 

The blankest circumstances 
Shall give his spirit play 
If he will — as he may — 

Because the rest are slow, 



Strive all the more to grow. 



T 



ON THE BEACH. 

{Ajigust, 1870.) 

HANKS to the few fair clouds that show 
So white against the bhie, 



At last even I begin to know 



What I was born to do; 



What else but here alone to lie 
And bask me in the sun? 

Well pleased to see the sails go by 
In silence one by one; 

Or lovingly, along the low 

Smooth shore no plough depraves, 
To watch the long low lazy flow 

Of the luxurious waves. 



A GLIMPSE OF LIFE. 

/^^H, not in vain some happier influence led 
My feet to wander where few footsteps go ! 
After so long a pacing to and fro 
In barren ways, how good it is instead, 
Here where the blue is ample overhead, 
And where the green is plentiful below. 
To be alone and let the unquestioned flow 
Of real life control me quieted ! 
Quieted, yes ! and brought near to behold 
The only life that makes me loth to die ; 
Whether the grass or whether the light breeze 
Gladden me more, or whether it be these 
Slim silver birches, lifting to the sky 
Such quivering fountains of sunshiny gold. 



MAN AND NATURE. 

r^ STEADFAST trees, that know 
Rain, hail and sleet and snow, 
And all the winds that blow ; 

But when spring comes, can then 

So freshly bud again 
Forgetful of the wrong ! 

Waters that deep below 

The stubborn ice can go 

With quiet underflow ; 
Contented to be dumb 
Till spring herself shall come 

To listen to your song ! 



MAN AND NATURE. 

Stars that the clouds pass o'er 
And stain not, but make more 
AUuring than before ; — 
How good it is for us 
That your Hves are not thus 
Prevented, but made strong I 



245 



CALM AND COLD. 

(January, 1867.) 

T3T^EAK into spray, and fly and fill the air 
With ghastly mist that freezes ere it falls, 
O struggling waves ! whom not the wind appals, 
Nor all the wrestling tempests overbear. 
But secret fear, lest, pausing weary there. 
Instead of peace, renewing whom it calls. 
The subtle cold, that levels and enthralls, 
Should creep and find and bind you unaware : 
And what were worse than, smoothly calm and 

cold. 
Wrapt in false peace, to fancy strife is o'er. 
Forget the woes that all the winds deplore, 
Forget the cares that all the clouds enfold, 
Watch not nor wait for changes as of old. 
And feel the movement of the world no more ! 



WINTER SUNRISE. 
(1869.) 

\T THEN I consider, as I am forced to do, 

The many causes of my discontent, 
And count my failures, and remember too 
How many hopes the failures represent ; 
The hope of seeing what I have not seen, 
The hope of winning what I have not won, 
The hope of being what I have not been, 
The hope of doing what I have not done ; 
When I remember and consider these — 
Against my Past my Present seems to lie 
As bare and black as yonder barren trees 
Against the brightness of the morning sky. 
Whose golden expectation puts to shame 
The lurking hopes to which they still lay claim. 



WINTER SUNSET. 

(.870.) 

T SAW a cloud at set of sun 
Exceeding white and fair, 
High over every other one, 
And poised in purer air; 

Like one that follows, forward bent, 
With arms outspread before. 

Into the splendid west he went 
Just as the day was o'er; 

I saw him turn to rosy red, 

I saw him turn to fire, 
I saw him burn away, and said 

This 07i€ had his desire / 



BY THE FIRESIDE. 

{December lb, 1866.) 

O AFELY at home, what is it that I hear 

In the wind's moaning and the driven snow 
That will not let me rest ? Strange sounds of woe 
From icy sailors battling with their fear; 
The dreadful rush of shuddering ships that steer 
For safety from the harbours that they know ; 
The thunder of blown icebergs as they go 
Together in the darkness ; and more near, 
And worse than all the tumult of the seas, 
A long low moan and sound of scanty tears 
From hungry men and women as they freeze. 
O Christ ! the world is sad these many years 
For many causes; would that one might cease 
From making vain all joromises of peace ! 



THE LION OF LUCERNE. 
(1869.) 
I. 

OILENT it is, but over it the trees 

And under it the waters, and around 
The bees and birds and grasses make a sound 
Of hfe whose movement is all grace and ease, 
Devoid of fears, devoid of ecstasies. 
But full of joy as careless as profound ; 
Silent it is, but none the less at last 
Its mute insistence overcomes the ear 
And steals the pleasure that it had to hear 
Earth's peaceful noises, which seem changing 

fast 
Into mere mockery, as the wave-Hke Past, 
Recurring sullenly, brings near and near 
The unjoyful murmur of man's ceaseless strife, 
Let break in vain against the shore of life. 



THE LION OF LUCERNE. 



II. 



X7ET there is life, and there is joy and peace; 
Life before death, and peace this side the 
grave, 
And joy in Earth, for this is what we crave, 
Not to postpone, nor to forego and cease, 
But in fultihiient to obtain release 
From strife which vexes, but at last shall save : 
Therefore to you, bUthe singing birds and bees. 
To you, soft trickling waters, and to you, 
Slow melting cloud- wreaths in the unruffled blue. 
Above the movement of the mingled trees. 
To you once more my soul returns and sees. 
And hears, not mockery, but a calm and true 
Correction and approval of the strife, 
Which is not life, but shall attain to life. 



MY PLACE. 

1_7R0M the main road I turn abrupt, and walk 
A little way along a lonely lane 
Shadowed by lazy willows (of our trees 
The first to show, the last to shed their leaves — 
Most hopeful and most faithful of them all). 
This leads me to the entrance of My Place — 
So I have named it — which, though often seen, 
Yet somehow always takes me by surprise. 

It seems to be a road — though never yet 
Have I seen horse or wagon enter it — 
Which passes downward crookedly between 
Old rocks which overshadow it all day : 
Old rocks whose tops are overgrown with grass, 



MY PLACE, 253 

Where violets delay dewdrops from the sun, 
And dandelions show like midsummer stars, 
Or languid moons at mid-day, ere the breeze 
Has played the sower with them ; daisies, too, 
Contemplative till Fall ; and in the Fall 
Frank purple asters, and glad golden rod : 
Slim birch trees shadow them not heavily, 
And overlean the pass from either side. 
With silver trunks and shining resdess leaves. 
And twigs so slight that when the leaves are gone 
I scarce regret their absence in the Fall, 
So delicately beautiful appear 
The loosely interwoven, sharp, thin lines, 
With pendulous seed-tassels held alott 
In shifting tracery on the pale blue sky. 

But O ! to stand direcdy in the midst. 
Below the scarred old rocks on either hand, 
T.ow down in shadow, and from off the ground 



254 ^^^ PLACE. 

To let the eye rise from the weedy grass 

And slowly make acquaintance with the moss 

And many-coloured lichens of the rock ; 

And with the hanging grass, which grows and 

sways, 
Head downward, whispering softly to the breeze; 
With vines that climb and vines that overfall 
Luring the eye to follow the long curves. 
Till high above I see the twisted roots, 
And higher yet, like lines of silver light, 
The over-reaching stems that half across, 
From either side the pathway, hold aslant 
The longing separated birches there, 
Whose quivering leaves attempt to blend in vain ; 
And higher yet, between them and beyond, 
As if seen for the first time in my life, 
Lo the blue sky ! far off, but not too far ! 

Beyond the rocks are trees that overhang 
Few wild flowers in the Spring, but in the Fall 



MY PLACE. 255 

Uncounted wealth of many-coloured leaves — 
Old chestnut-trees, and hickories and oaks, 
Wound round with woodbine, overgrown with 

moss, 
Under whose ample branches dogwoods grow. 
In Winter I have seen them blotted out 
By blurring snow-storms from the encroaching sky. 
And on smooth-lying snow have traced, how oft, 
The still blue shadows of their thinnest twigs ; 
And in the Spring have seen them putting forth. 
And thrilled to see that first faint tender green 
Above the rugged bark, as if I saw 
Tears of mere tenderness upon the face 
Of some stern fighter in a life-long war; 
And in the Summer I have sat and mused 
For hours beneath their dream-compelling leaves. 

But in the Autumn love them most of all; 
And that especially for four or five 



256 MY PLACE. 

Supreme old oaks and hickories, even now, 

This third day of November, which retain 

A glory that no others ever had. 

The frequent maples, that last month fulfilled 

The air with cheerfulness, are faded now 

To brooding brown, or oftener yet become 

Mere leaden outlines, stiff and cold ; but here 

Are hickories still with living golden leaves 

Unblenching from the breezes, while around 

The chestnut leaves are fluttering down in showers, 

And even in places crackling under foot. 

But the one tree which consecrates the place 

With glorious beauty is a lonely oak 

Which stands full in the sunlight, with a mass 

Of quivering, clear, almost transparent leaves. 

Which look like burning rubies in the air. 

So red they are, so full of life and light. 

No other autumn tree can match with this — 



MY PLACE. 257 



No scarlet maple among its golden mates, 
No sumach, no, nor woodbine where it falls 
O'er a gray rock in sunlight, shows a red 
So clear, so pure, so ravishing as this — 
Like light itself, a mystery, a charm : 
One almost fears to see it pass away 
With every movement of the hovering breeze ; 
But it remains, it lives and glows and grows, 
And holds me like a sunset, till at last 
I break away reluctantly, and turn 
And turn again to see it yet once more, 
MingHng its rubies with the glancing gold 
Of sunlit leaves behind it, while the sky. 
In sapphire flecks seen thro' the magic web, 
Seems quivering with its motion like the sea. 

But ere one passes from between the rocks, 
He sees a gleam of brightness underneath. 
Which tells him why the pathway all at once 



258 MV PLACE, 

Descends so swiftly, making haste to meet 
The beckoning waters that it sees below. 
And so its eagerness begets in me 
An equal longing, and 1 hurry down, 
And for a moment am amazed and blind 
Before the rippling river as it flows 
And flashes in the sunlight at my feet. 

But, far off in the distance to the left, 

Soon I begin to see a narrow shore 

Which widens ever, till straight across I see 

Broad sloping fields, and back of them the woods 

That step by step rise up to mark the sky 

With dark uneven fringes on the blue ; 

Then no more meadows for the waves to wash. 

But a bare wall to beat against in vain 

Of unassisted rock; which far away 

Curves suddenly to meet, or seem to meet 

The bending shore, and shut the river in, 



MY PLACE. 259 



So that all sails that pass me outward bound 
Seem all at once to strangely disappear 
As if the mountain took them, as of old 
The Venusberg took Venus and her knight; 
While those that come seem rising from the depths, 
Like Flying-Dutchmen from another world. — 
And yonder by the chestnut is My Place. 

It has two parts ; the first a grassy bank 
Just on the border of a little wood 
Of chestnut-trees, above a tiny pool 
Of shallow water, from whose edge the grass 
Slopes once again to meet the actual shore 
(Its second part), than which I think there is 
No better place to see and hear the waves, 
And watch the noiseless changes of the clouds. 

When I first found it 'twas a lovely day — 
A lovely latter May-day, warm and bright — 
A day for lying on the grass alone, 



26q my place. 

To watch and wonder at the tender leaves, 

And breathe the fragrance of the kindred ground; 

Over and back of me the breathing trees, 

And over these, seen partly thro' the boughs, 

The waveless sky, with little melting clouds; 

Below, the shallow waters reproduced 

The rocks and shrubs and overhanging trees. 

And sky and clouds and butterflies and birds — 

Its magic stillness broken only once 

By magic music, where a thin lost rill. 

From groping thro' the hiding grass, at last 

Stole forth and found and fell into its lake. 

With ripple and flash, like laughter heard and 

seen; 
And then the river, seen without its shore, 
Bright in the sunhght, rippled by the breeze ; 
Far ofl" the incessant glances of a quick 
Insufferable multitude of suns ; 
Nearer, a broad white band of blinding light, 



MY PLACE. 261 

Which made the waters just this side of it 

Seem almost black with gloom, which when the 

sails 
Touched they were changed, and in a moment 

gone. 
Lost in the splendour of the concealing light. 

And many a morning since, upon the shore 
Have I sat still and let the river flow 
Unheeded, while I watched the silent clouds 
On the transparent river of the air. 
Like ruffled swans rejoicing in the breeze. 
Whose motion was for music ; or have tried 
To name the unimaginable forms 
Of all the cirri in the upper blue, 
Pleased hke a child to mark what flecks of foam, 
What overfalling wool-white waves were there, 
What misty beams, what thread-Hke lines of light, 
What flying flashes of revolving fire. 



262 MY PLACE. 

What airy tongues of unpolluted flame, 

What breathing Northern-lights, what Milky-ways, 

What fairy frost-work, what gigantic ferns. 

What cirri simply (I came back to that) — 

Till into me insensibly the charm 

Of all the loveliness of all the sky, 

Its light, its joy, its clearness and its calm. 

Stole like sweet music, ending in a cry 

Of inexpressible desire, and passed. 

And still the breeze just touched the lazy leaves, 

And at my feet the seeming sleeping waves 

Moved only as a dreamful sleeper breathes. 

But there are days of quiet, when the calm 

Seems not of dreaming, but of speechless thought, 

And under all the quietness I feel, 

I know what lurking restlessness is there, 

That with the waking comes the war again. 

And often as I sit and look across. 



MY PLACE. 263 

And contemplate the slow unyielding rocks, 
Dead to the movement of the clouds and waves, 
Their joy or pain, their hope or their despair, — 
Oft as I sit alone and look at these, 
The whole world changes, and at once my dreams 
Born of the warm air and the whispering leaves, 
Are scattered from me by the self-same thought 
That crowds the waves to wear the rocks away ; 
Then what are dreams of things to be desired 
To that desire of things to be denied, 
Which pricks me to my feet and sets my face 
With hungry pain against the little breeze ? — 
Longing to feel it change into a swift, 
Indignant wind, which shall uprouse the waves 
To fury, and the tree-tops to a grand 
Dishevelled madness, while from woods to waves 
The roar is answered, and my soul relieved 
By lifting music from its want of wings. 
And envy of the sea-gulls, where they fly 
Wrestling the wind, insatiate of the storm. 



264 MY PLACE. 

Such winds I find here often in the Fall 
Then not such clouds as but enhance the blue 
Above the rippling river whitely sail 
Nowhither smoothly, but rebellious shapes 
Of writhing darkness, like the lower waves, 
Rise raging and fall sullenly, blown on 
And dashed against the inviolable sun ; 
Grandly they rise and grandly are thrust down, 
The ragged foam-like edges wildly bright 
With an unwelcome brightness, till at last — 
As naturally as if the storm itself 
Were but the inclusion of a central calm — 
There comes a change; the uncertain wind de- 
cides ; 
The trees still rock and roar and grind ; the waves 
Still writhe and gnash and murmur unappeased; 
The clouds still sway and struggle overhead ; 
But in the west a space of purer blue 
(Heaven never is so purely blue as when 



MY PLACE. 265 

The heavy clouds are broken after rain) 
Expects its glory from the setting sun, 
And takes it, and the changing clouds no less 
Take alien beauty, and I too am glad 
After the storm, and with light step and heart 
Can now walk homeward, having little need, 
Lighted and shone upon by such a sky, 
Of any God or Goddess, Friend or Love, 
Except for thanks, except for sympathy. 



EARLY POEMS 



SUNSET. 

/^ THE the glory of the sky that is mine! 
Far above, a stretch of blue, 
With a veil of silver grey 
Slipping downward to combine 
With a shadow hardly seen 
Of the palest fading green; 

And beneath, — 
(How their edges seem to breathe 

And to curl 
In the fire that has burnt them through and 
through !) 
Adding purple to the pearl, 
Are the moving clouds uprolled 
From a sun that melts away 
In a depth of glowing gold. 



A RAINY DAY. 

A WIND that shrieks to the window pane, 
A wind in the chimney moaning, 
A wind that tramples the ripened grain, 

And sets the trees a-groaning ; 
A wind that is dizzy with whirhng play, 
A dozen winds that have lost their way 

In spite of the others' calling. 
A thump of apples on the ground, 
A flutter and flurry and whirling round 

Of leaves too soon a-dying ; 
A tossing and screaming like hair unbound 

Of the willow boughs a-flying : 
A lonely road and a gloomy lane, 
An empty lake that is blistered with rain. 

And a heavy sky that is falling. 



AN EARLY SPRING. 



T T THAT if I found a crocus yesterday, 

And then a hyacinth in perfect bloom ? 
They only prove this Southern March is May. 
I gain an earlier spring, but throw away 
Sweet days and nights which would have given me 

A longer joy than hyacinth-perfume, 
And surer promises than here I see 
Of better summer days than these can ever be. 

2. 

Bloom, hyacinth and crocus — not for me; 

Shine, genial Sun — not genial to my heart ; 
Blow, winds of Spring; flow, waters fresh and free, 
And be to others what you cannot be 



272 AN EARLY SPRING. 

To those who will not bear with your delay. 

But snatch and crush the joy you else impart. 
O, little joy is there in blooming May 
For him who knows not March and many 
doubtful day ! 



BY THE BROOK. 

T T ERE were the place to lie alone all day, 

On shadowed grass beneath the sunlit 
trees, 

With leaves forever trembhng in the breeze. 
While close beside, the brook keeps up alway 
The old love-murmur, wooing me to stay 

And hear the dreamy music all at ease. 
The old love-murmur; such she heard, I deem, 

White Arethusa in her maiden grace. 

When, naked after the fatiguing chase. 
She bathed alone in Alpheus' shady stream. 

And throwing back the wet hair from her face, 
Listening a moment, half entranced did seem ; 

Then frightened, from the rising God's embrace 
Fled glistening, like the spirit of a dream. 



BETWEEN THE SUNSET AND THE 
MOON. 

T CLIMB and stand upon the grassy height 
Beneath a cloudless heaven's tranquillity ; 
The sun is gone, and slowly comes the night 

Across the silent fields, but gloriously 
The West is shining with a golden hght, 

Where purple hills stand sharp against the sky, 
And seem to girdle in the world, and keep 

An endless barrier 'tween the sea and land. 
I turn : below, just wakened from its sleep. 

The lake is beating music on the sand ; 
Above it, resting on the mountain steep. 

The naked beauty of the moon is seen. 
And a great joy comes to me, for I stand 

Between a birth and death alike serene. 



A WINTER AFTERNOON. 

T STAND where in the summer I have stood, 
But all is changed. There is no sight of 
green 
Save yonder, in the stiff-branched cedar wood, 

Whose dull, cold leaves are gloomy to be seen ; 
The little hill — great growth of grass was there, 

Where careless crickets leaped and sang before — 
Rusty and dead, slopes slowly down to where 

Foul ice lies stranded on the slimy shore : 
For the sad river with a low, dull moan, 

Leaving his shore flows sullenly apart. 
But I, who stand in silence here alone 

Looking on these, am nothing sad at heart ; 
For over all there is a pure, bright sky, 
Wherein the sun is shining gloriously. 



THE LOST MOON. 

I. 

T N among the changing cirri, 

Transient children of the noon, 
Soulless shapes of mocking light, 

Far away I see the moon, 
All alone and pale and weary. 
Looking, longing for the night. 

2. 

Looking, longing, waiting, loving, 
Ah ! thou weary one but true, 

Lost but faithful, well I know 
Other souls that wander too, 

Unapproved and unapproving. 

Till the soulless ones shall go. 



I 



PURSUING. 

AM the moon, you are the sun, 
O my beloved ! 
Too far removed 
Ever by me to be won. 
The sea is mine, if I stoop from above, 
And the stars grow pale for the want of my love, 
But I leave the stars and the longing sea, 
For the fuller love that afar I see. 
Ever so far removed from me. 
Still I pursue, will I pursue, 
Looking to you, 
Over the wide, wide space 

That keeps us apart, 
Light on my face. 
Love in mv heart 1 



FROM BELOW. 

T AM not one disposed to chide 

For that full calm which men call pride, 
That like a hiding brightness lies 
Before those wide, unwavering eyes. 

Who are you that would chide, and why ? 
Because that clear, undazzled eye 
Keeps something constantly in view 
So high that it looks over you ? 

Because there falls upon her ear 
Music that makes it deaf to hear 
The little cries of love or hate 
That issue from your lower state ? 



FROM BELOW. 279 

Nay, hush your cries; they but confess 
The secret pain of Httleness, 
Which sees above its paltry strife 
The satire of a noble life. 

For me, I am rejoiced indeed 
That of my love she has no need ; 
Raised far above the doubtful ways 
In which I wander, glad to gaze 

From far below on such as she, 
Who feel the light I dimly see, 
And know that one has made her own 
The peace for which I vainly moan. 

And more — God shows in her the pain 
Of all my strivings is not vain. 
And makes me more than glad to know 
How lovely life may hope to grow. 



ABSENCE. 



T WONDER where she can be now ! 

Far away is all I know; 
Far away the glorious brow, 

And the gold hair's rippling flow, 
And the little rosy ear. 
When I speak, so quick to hear, 
And the eye's serenity, 
And the sweet voice, clear and low. 
That is speaking somewhere now, 
Only not to me! 

2. 

That is the strangest : somewhere now 
She is speaking ; well I know 



ABSENCE. 281 

How the head is turned, and how 
For a moment she will show 

The little dimple when she smiles; — 

Only there are miles and miles 
Stretched between us, and I sigh 
For the sweet voice, clear and low, 

Some one must be hearing now. 
Would that it were I ! 



PROTESILAUS. 

" \'\ /HO touches first the Trojan shore shall 

die ! " 
The oracle has said, and soon the event 
Must overtake the prophecy; for now 
Across the restless waters as I look, 
I see a line of whiteness where the waves, 
Meet with a murmur and recoil again 
From what they seek forever. 'Tis the shore, 
The shore of Troy, which who first touches dies. 

Who is he of the Greeks marked out to die ? — 
To fall thus on the threshold of his fame. 
Denied the harvest of the planted past, 
Held back from following the future years 



PRO TEST LA US. 283 

Bright with unproven promises, so dear, 
So Dear at any time, so strangely dear 
To him who sees them with despairing eyes ? 
He loses all. Unheard by him the hosts 
Shall clash in battle yonder ; and at last 
When the glad cry of triumph shakes the air, 
He shall not hear it; nor shall he return 
A hero with the heroes, full of fame ; 
Nor yet with the unreturning shall he have 
A place forever in the glorious tale. 

Who would die thus ? The most would not, for 

each 
Counting the greatness of the loss yet waits, 
And looks upon his neighbour, saying. He • 
Can better go than I ; he loses less. 
So they stand still. And there are some who fear 
No shape of death that comes with clash of arms, 
When they have fore-revenged themselves by deeds 



2 84 ^^O TEST LA US. 

Of glorious fight ; but to this certain death, 

This sacrifice, whose victim may be stained 

With no blood but his own, they have no will. 

And there are others with us, some great souls 

Who dare die willingly, not asking why 

Nor how ; but these, because they are so great, 

With thought and speech as well as with the sword. 

The present and the after time do need. 

And they must live that the great cause may live. 

And I have left me there in Thessaly 
The unfinished palace, and the one I love, 
Laodomia ; she, too, has a part 
In what I am. Her have I left alone, 
Save for the hope that overlooks the years 
And sees an end to waiting, hard to bear. 
And me returning gladly to her arms. 
For I, too, in the present work and live 
As one who does his work in haste, that he 



PROTESILAUS. 285 

The sooner may return to those he loves ; 

Yet all the work he has to do he does. 

And I will do my work : for this I left 

Laodomia and my home ; for this 

The Gods have made me strong and great of heart. 

This work, what is it ? There are men enough 

To war with Troy and right the Grecian wrong, 

Save for the oracle. For these are brave, 

Although each counts it loss to die at once 

Before his arm has struck one blow at fame. 

Yet many an one must die before Troy fall ; 

And whether he die first or last, alone 

Or in the rush and hurry of the strife. 

What difference to the true heroic heart ? 

Nay, then, I count him happiest of all. 

Who thus can gather up his finished life, 

And see the end of it, that it is well. 

So is he hero to himself, though stained 

With no blood but his own. And so this task, 

Because it seems so hard unto the most. 



286 . Pi^O TEST LA US. 

Is worthy of the soul that would be great, 
Marking its greatness by itself. 

But she ?— 
How altogether fall the heavy oars ! 
P'or each one does the work he has to do ; 
How the sails swell and strain before the wind 
That blows us onward o'er the uneven sea! 
The sharp prow hurries through the parting wave, 
And we go proudly leading all the rest 
That seek the shore of Tx-oy. 

So be it then ! 
And you, Laodomia and my home. 
Farewell! Farewell! /am the one to die ! 



MARGARET. 

T T TELL enough I bear it now, 

While the Winter Hngers yet, 
Hiding all the fields with snow, — 
Fields in which we walked, you know, 
Not so very long ago, 

Margaret ! 
While the skies are seldom clear, 

And the winds are wild and rough, 
While no song-bird dares appear, 
And the trees are bare as yet, 
I can bear it well enough, 
Margaret. 



288 MARGARET. 

Well enough ! I do my best 

To remember only yet 
What you were, and pass the rest, 
Taking only for a test 
That you once have made me blest, 
Margaret ! 

Saying to myself, as I 

See the weary waste of snow, 
And the clouds about the sky, — 
Fields and skies keep hidden yet, 
Why not she ? 'tis winter now, 
Margaret ! 

Ah ! but when Spring skies are blue 

As the lost ones I regret. 
When the trees, and song-birds, too, 
Call me to the fields anew. 
What, then, shall I think of you, 
Margaret ? 



MARGARET. 289 

Would the fields might never change, 

Nor the skies agam be blue, 
So I might not think it strange 
That you never come! And yet, 

'Tis too lonely without you, 
Margaret ! 



MADONNA. 

T HAVE seen her again to-day, 

With the pale gold hair, and the eyes 
Where the light of the sunset lay, 
As it slipped from the open skies. 

And the same still smile she wore. 
That in heaven can hardly change. 

Save to brighter, perhaps, than before. 
As it ceases at last to be strange. 

Yes, I saw her again, and am strong — 
Strong to love and be true to the strife 

Of my soul, that attempts to prolong 
Its best moment, and make it a life, 



MADONNA. 291 

Like to hers whom I love with my soul, 

Though my love must be never made known 

Till the long journey ends at the goal, 
Which for her sake I seek all alone. 

All alone, but with joy, for I know 
That 'tis better to climb for her love. 

And to spend a whole life loving so. 

Than that she should stoop once from above. 

'Tis enough for this life of a day 

That I love her, and say not a word. 

But live like her, as like as I may, 

Till the time comes at last to be heard ; 

When I meet her in heaven, that is. 
And she smiles as I say to her, Dear, 

How I loved you on earth, know from this, 
That I loved you, and followed you here. 



MOONLIGHT. 

" IV T AY, wait me here — I'll not be long; 
'Tis but a little way ; 
I'll come ere you have sung the song 
I made you yesterday. 

" 'Tis but to cross yon streak of light, — 
And fresh the breezes blow ; 

You will not lose me from your sight — 
One kiss, and now I go." 

So, in the pleasant night of June, 

He lightly sails away. 
To where the glimmer of the moon 

Lies right athwart the bay. 



MOONLIGHT. 293 

And she sits singing on the shore 

A song of pure dehght ; 
The boat flies on— a Htde more, 

And he will cross the Hght. 

The boat flies on, the song is done, 
The light before him gleams ; 

A litde more, and he has won : 
'Tis farther than it seems. 

The boat flies on, the boat flies fast ; 

The wind blows strong and free ; 
The boat flies on, the bay is past, 

He sails into the sea. 

And on, and on, and ever on, 

The light lies just before ; 
But ah, forevermore is done 

The song upon the shore ! 



AT SEA. 



T T THITHER we sail, who knows ? 
But still the yearning grows, 
And still the eager ear 
Some promise seems to hear 

In every wind that blows. 



2. 

And nowhere can we find, 

We of the restless mind, 
An answering joy to pain. 
Save where the broad sails strain 

Before the rising wind : 



AT SEA. 

3- 

Save where the flying spray 

The fever of delay 

Cools from the heated face, 
Bent forward in the chase 

Somewhither day by day ; — 

4. 

Save where we still can feel 

The sea beneath us reel 

With longing pain and strife, 
True to the dream of life 

Which is its woe and weal ; — 

5- 
Save where the clouds that range 
The boundless sky, and change 
With every breath of air, 
Yet ever calm and fair, 
Give comfort, true and strange ; 



295 



296 



AT SEA. 

6. 

Save where the storms we meet 

Are Nature's, that defeat 

Fear's sloth, and make more clear 
And pure the atmosphere, 

To keep our purpose sweet ; — 

7- 

Save where our very sleep 

A motion still doth keep, 
That lets us ne'er forget 
The dream which lures us yet 

To follow through the deep ; 

8. 

That dream which, when the dull. 
Cold, heavy storm, too full 

Of doubts and darkness, passed, 

In the sunlight at last 
Rose glistening, beautiful. 



AT SEA. 297 



9- 

O dream of what shall be ! 

Born of the restless sea, 
And floating high between 
That and the sky's serene, 

Far-off immunity : 

10. 

Something of both must rise 
In every soul that tries 
To keep thee still in sight, 
So hard to love aright. 
Harder to realize ! 

II. 

And long the way, indeed ! 
But why should we be freed 

Before we know it all ? 

Whatever else befall, 
The hope is what we need : 



A T SEA. 
12. 

And still the pain obeys 
The longing that allays, 

And shapes it to its end; 

To make, when both shall blend, 
A hope that ne'er betrays : 

13- 

Still we can keep the chase, 
Led by that shape of grace ; 
Still strive, and strive again. 
Hoping, we know not when, 
To see her face to face. 

14. 

What else ? Ah, yes ! we know 

That we are sailing, now, 

That sea where many a brave, 
True heart has found its grave. 

But still we choose to go. 



A T SEA. 

15- 

Nay, must ! How shall we dare 
To leave them lying there 

Unanswered, each brave heart 
That dared and did his part. 
And died without despair ? 

i6. 

All, all the more may we 

Trust the old prophecy. 
And sail, still singing thus 
The old song sent to us 

Along the stormy sea ! 



299 



THE GOOD PURSUIT. 

I. 

T DREAM of the time when she 
Whom I follow and dimly see, 

And love still more and more 

As ever she flies before, 
True leader and guide to me : 

2. 

I dream of the time when she 
Shall be clearly seen by me, 
Still flying, the beautiful one. 



Still leading me on and on 



To the lands which poets see. 



THE GOOD PURSUIT. 301 



3- 

I dream of the time when she 

Shall be won at last by me. 

At the edge of the promised land, 
Which we enter hand in hand. 

And I dream of what shall be. 

4. 

Meanwhile, 'tis a joy but to see 

The white robe beckoning me ; 

Time enough for a sight of the face, 
When I prove myself true to the chase, 

And am what she persuades me to be. 



A ROSE 



X T 7H0 but knows 

Nought reprieves 

From decay 
Once begun ? 
One by one, 
See the leaves 

Of my rose 

Fall away ! 

2. 

Fall the rest ! 
Was it I, 

Long ago, 
Dared to say : 



A ROSE. 

In a day- 
It shall lie 
On a breast 
That I know ? 

3- 

Tis a thing, 
At the best, 

For her scorn ; 
Ere she knows, 
Hide it close; 
Save her breast 

From the sting 

Of the thorn! 



2>^Z 



